


Stalking Malfoy

by pierrot_dreams, slashpervert



Series: Stalking Malfoy [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Age Difference, BDSM, Cross-Generation Relationship, D/s, M/M, Spanking, Threesome, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-29
Updated: 2014-01-29
Packaged: 2018-01-10 11:07:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 39,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1158977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pierrot_dreams/pseuds/pierrot_dreams, https://archiveofourown.org/users/slashpervert/pseuds/slashpervert
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry is determined to catch Malfoy and Snape plotting evil. What he finds shocks him even more than he imagined. The worst shock isn’t that Malfoy and Snape are shagging, but that Harry is more turned on by that than he has ever been. (Sequel to <em>Stalking Malfoy's Arse, or Midnight Machinations</em>.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Poofter Virus

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ravenna_c_tan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ravenna_c_tan/gifts).



> **Notes:** PWP. Canon to OTP, AU from sixth year. Snape teaching potions. The first draft of this was written a couple years ago. Icon from, with permission, Veridari's art, Desired.  
>  **Betas:** Jake and Mini Mouse.  
>  **Warnings:** Language, M/M  & M/M/M sex including anal, oral, threesome, voyeurism, mild D/s, spanking. Teacher/student. Adult/teen age disparity.  
>  **Disclaimer:** This is a non-commercial work of fan fiction intended for adult audiences only. No copyright infringement intended.  
>  **Distribution:** Distribution is limited to personal use. Do NOT repost without written permission. See explanation [HERE](http://slashpervert.livejournal.com/242164.html). You can find links to translations of my stories [HERE](http://slashpervert.livejournal.com/208619.html).

Harry stared up at the ceiling with red-rimmed eyes. The light streaming through the windows of the Gryffindor boy's dormitory harked the unwelcome arrival of morning, but Harry hadn't slept. Not a fucking wink. Every time his lids drifted down the image of Snape rutting against Malfoy would appear. Better to pinch himself awake than witness _that_ all over again.  
  
His cock was sore from being ignored. Even if Harry had no wish to see the potion master's sallow arse, his baser self apparently had a mind of its own. Another reason not to let himself sleep: nocturnal ejaculation to Snape would be automatic grounds for suicide. The sheets were a mess of pre-come as it was, though that wasn't exactly a novel phenomenon.  
  
"Sleeping in, mate?" Ron's face appeared above him, cheerful and well-rested. "Come on, we'll be late to breakfast and we still have to finish that Transfiguration essay for McGonagall. Think Hermione will let us copy hers?" He paused and sniffed the air, then grinned broadly. "You've been wanking, haven't you?" he said triumphantly.  
  
Harry had to struggle very hard not to kill him.  
  
Hermione, as it turned out, did let them copy from her Transfiguration essay, but was emphatically not happy about it. Harry was too exhausted to take as much creative license in rephrasing as he should have, but was also too exhausted to care. If McGonagall gave him detention for plagiarism, so be it. Perhaps suffering through an hour of writing lines under her glower of disapproval would be enough to shrivel his manhood completely, thus solving the problem of how in the name of God and Merlin he would get through another night avoiding Malfoy-themed wet dreams.  
  
***  
  
Draco slept well. His only dreams the kind that made the sheets sticky. He woke with a smile, laying in bed, letting himself enjoy the throb of his sore arse and the pulse of a morning erection against soft sheets. He slid a hand between his legs and cupped his balls, rolling them and sighing in pleasure. He could hear the other boys in the dorm moving about, but no one would open his curtain or disturb him lest they get a reminder of just how good he was at Puking Hexes.  
  
"Malfoy, you going to wank through breakfast?"  
  
Well, almost no one.  
  
"Considering it," he answered Blaise.  
  
"Snape might let you miss breakfast but not Potions Class."  
  
Draco sighed and sat up, wincing. He wasn't looking forward to trying to focus in class while he sat in a wooden chair, with a hard-on no doubt. Thank Merlin for robes. He reached for his dressing gown and pulled it on, sliding out of bed. The feel of silk against his bruised flesh made him shiver.  
  
Draco made his way to the bathroom. One of the benefits of waking up late was that the showers were empty. He stood under the spray, taps turned as hot as he could take, one arm braced against the wall and his hair plastered to his face.  
  
He returned his hand to his still full prick, long fingers gently working the foreskin up and down the shaft, squeezing the head on each upstroke.  
  
"Oh, yes," he whispered, letting his mind replay the hard fuck the night before.  
  
He moaned, squeezed harder, moved his hand faster, shuddering. "Harder, yes," he whispered, his arse clenching around the cock that wasn't there at the moment. "Fuck yes!" He came, spilling onto the tiles, the water washing it down the drain. Today would be a good day.  
  
***  
  
It was not a good day.  
  
Harry had nearly brained Seamus with a flying vase during Charms, was bitten by a fanged root during Herbology, and in Transfiguration had somehow caused the bluebottle they were supposed to be turning into a pin to swell ten times its natural size and float out the window like a balloon. McGonagall had not been sure whether to give him extra homework or award Gryffindor ten points for what had been rather impressive, if inadvertent, spell work. She settled for detracting five, and Harry trudged from her classroom feeling, if possible, even worse than he had that morning.  
  
Lunch was spent half-listening to Ron and Dean bicker about the Chudley Cannons without really hearing them and mechanically eating whatever it was that Hermione had laden his plate with. Harry didn't taste it. Potions Class grew nearer and nearer like a dark cloud on the horizon.  
  
And of course there was the presence of Malfoy at the Slytherin table, a blond sore at the edge of Harry's vision that he could not stop his eyes sliding towards.  
  
The ferret was laughing at something Pansy Parkinson had said. Though his pose was one of nonchalance Harry noticed how gingerly he sat on his sure-to-be-bruised bum. This observation went straight to Harry's cock, and he spent the rest of lunch sitting almost as gingerly as Malfoy, hoping desperately that Ron wouldn't see the tenting of his robes.  
  
 _This doesn't make me gay,_ Harry told himself firmly, shoveling more rubbery food into his mouth and chewing like an automaton. _I've just got my wires crossed, that's all. Seeing them last night made my head go a bit odd, but it's only temporary. Like a ... a poofter virus._  
  
Poofter virus or no, Harry walked to Potions like a man condemned. He forced himself to participate in Ron and Seamus' argument about the Cannons—intervening just in time to prevent serious physical violence, as it turned out—but when he entered the classroom and passed under Snape's frigid stare his mind was far from occupied with Quidditch.  
  
"Today," Snape began when they were all seated, "we will be brewing a Pepper-up Potion. Can any of you tell me what the properties of this potion are?"  
  
Predictably, Hermione's hand shot up, and predictably, Snape ignored her. Malfoy also raised his hand, wearing a self-assured smirk, but to Harry's surprise Snape didn't so much as glance at him. Harry watched Malfoy's grin falter and fade as the professor panned the room with an expression of acute disinterest and refused to acknowledge his favorite student.  
  
"Miss Granger?" Snape sighed finally, lip curled in a sneer.  
  
"The Pepper-up Potion was invented by Glover Hipworth as a cure for the common cold," Hermione said promptly, folding her hands on the top of her desk. "Side effects include a hot steam that issues from the patient's ears after drinking the potion."  
  
"The main ingredient is Fluxweed," Draco interjected, not to be outdone.  
  
"I do not remember calling on you, Mister Malfoy," Snape said coldly. Malfoy went pink and sunk down in his chair, still looking up at Snape with wide, entreating eyes.  
  
"The Pepper-up Potion, while dull, will almost certainly appear on your NEWT examinations," Snape continued, oblivious to Malfoy's pleading expression. "It is not complex and I am confident that even those of you who could not brew their way out of a paper bag—" his glare fell on Neville, who wilted like a tarantula plant in the sun—"will be able to execute it with passable success. Materials are in the cabinet; you will work in groups of two. Begin."  
  
Ron and Harry paired up, and a quick round of rock, paper, wand determined that Harry would fetch the materials. Fluxweed, ginger, knotgrass and horned slugs; Harry swept the herbs and powders into his arms, balancing a tube of pickled doxy livers on top. A thin pale arm brushed his reaching into the cabinet. Harry startled sideways when he realized that it belonged to Malfoy.  
  
"Problem, Potter?" Malfoy sneered.  
  
At this proximity Harry could see that Malfoy's eyes had dark shadows beneath them, and he held himself with the same care Harry did after a Quidditch practice had left him with aching muscles. Harry remembered the scarlet flush to Malfoy's arse and felt a similar hue light his face.  
  
"N-no," Harry sputtered, and hurried back to his cauldron.  
  
Snape hadn't been lying when he said that the Pepper-up Potion was fairly simple, especially compared to the almost punitively difficult potions he had been giving them lately to prepare for their NEWTs. But just like in all his other classes, Harry couldn't seem to do anything right. He sent the tube of Doxy livers flying with a misplaced elbow and had to crawl around on his hands and knees picking them up, much to Crabbe and Goyle's delight. After wrangling the livers he attempted to light the cauldron and accidentally set his own robe on fire.  
  
"What's with you today?" Ron asked grumpily after helping Harry extinguish the flames.  
  
"Nothing!" Harry said quickly. "Nothing's wrong, why would anything be wrong? I'm fine, just fine, really fine. Wonderful, actually. And how are you? Are you fine?"  
  
"Why don't you let me light the cauldron this time," Ron said, eyeing Harry's manic smile with suspicion.  
  
Their potion was doomed from the start. Under Snape's impervious gaze Harry managed to mismeasure the fluxweed, doubling the required amount. This forced them to double the rest of the ingredients as well.  
  
"It's all right, we'll just make twice as much," Ron said cheerfully, pouring a liberal dose of ginger into the cauldron.  
  
Harry wasn't listening. Malfoy was shifting from foot to foot, occasionally reaching back to rub his bottom. He didn't seem to have notice he was doing it. He examined the pearly contents of his cauldron and furrowed his brow, lips pursing. Harry watched transfixed as Malfoy readjusted his robe again before he sprinkled knotgrass into his potion, silver eyes reflecting the vapors rising from its liquid surface.  
  
"Bloody hell!" Ron yelped. Their cauldron had overflowed.  
  
"Incompetent fools," Snape snapped, Vanishing the spilled potion with an angry flick of his wand. "Fetch more materials and begin again."  
  
This time Harry kept his eyes fixed firmly on the potion, but it didn't help. Though they measured the ingredients correctly this time, it turned out that they had used caterpillar eggs instead of doxy livers. The potion turned green, congealed, and started to smoke. Snape Vanished the mess before it could combust, took ten points from Gryffindor and gave both Harry and Ron extra homework.  
  
"Harry, are you sure you're all right?" Hermione asked worriedly as they left the classroom. Before Harry could respond he felt a sharp elbow jab him between the ribs.  
  
"Nice one, Potter," Malfoy said, grinning. "Look on the bright side: at least you made Longbottom feel better. Now you're the most useless Gryffindor instead of him."  
  
"Shove off, Malfoy," Ron snapped. Malfoy departed with another smirk at Harry.  
  
"Don't worry, Harry, I'm still the most useless Gryffindor," Neville said, patting Harry on the arm.  
  
Somehow, Harry didn't find this very comforting.  
  
***  
  
It had been a week and a half since Harry had seen Snape buggering Malfoy, and the poofter virus didn't seem to going away.  
  
If anything, Harry was even worse than he had been. He spent his nights determinedly not wanking and his days staggering around in a haze of sleepless incompetence. The poofter virus had cost Gryffindor another twenty points, for smashing a window in Charms and accidentally killing his bubotuber in Herbology. Harry had skipped his last Potions class, terrified that he would somehow manage to blow the castle up.  
  
Ron put it down to stress, but Hermione was getting suspicious. Harry caught her watching him sometimes with a look in her eye that he didn't trust.  
  
Even Ginny had noticed that something was wrong. She cornered Harry outside the locker room after a particularly awful Quidditch practice in which Harry had flown directly into a Bludger after seeing Draco Malfoy crossing the lawn. "Do you have a girlfriend, Harry?" she demanded without preamble.  
  
"I—what?"  
  
"A girlfriend," Ginny said impatiently. "Something's obviously distracting you. So who is she?"  
  
Girls were so far from being the problem that Harry felt hysterical laughter bubbling in his throat at the thought.  
  
"I don't have a girlfriend," he said truthfully.  
  
"Well, maybe you should get one," Ginny snapped. "Perhaps getting snogged on a regular basis will improve your flying. Whatever the problem is, Harry, fix it fast. We can't afford to lose our next game against Slytherin, and with our captain running into bludgers and nearly falling off his broom at every loud noise I don't really see how we're going to pull off a win."  
  
With that she turned on her heel and stalked away. Harry put his head in his hands and groaned.  
  
***  
  
The Maurauder's map had grown creased and finger-smudged from Harry checking it obsessively, watching Snape's office like a Muggle cop on a stake-out. Though the professor was often there until all hours, sometimes entertaining Dumbledore and less often McGonagall or Slughorn, Malfoy was never with him. Harry began to wonder whether what he had seen was the beginning and end of whatever teacher and student shared, but then he remembered the collar around Malfoy’s neck and Snape's possessive hands, not to mention the way Malfoy had arched back on the man and moaned his name, and felt sure that this went deeper than a one-off.  
  
 _So why didn't Malfoy visit Snape?_ Harry crumpled his fist around the Map, frustration overwhelming him. He had to go back to Snape's office to exorcise whatever demon had possessed him that night, but he knew somehow that it would be useless unless Malfoy was there. He needed to watch them again and not be moved by it, not feel his cock twitch in his robes, not come at the order of a man he hated. He needed to prove to himself that he wasn't queer, but he couldn't do that without watching Snape and Malfoy have sex. Which made perfect sense. Right?  
  
A few more days passed and Harry began to lose hope. His eyes burned from sleeplessness and he couldn't so much as glance at Malfoy without getting a hard-on. Worse, he'd begun to notice other blokes as well—Seamus' dimpled grin, the way Dean's dreadlocks fell into his dark eyes—even Neville's innocent moon face and plump bottom lip had him breathing a little faster. It was as though some inner floodgate had burst open, shattering the wall he'd built around those feelings long ago.  
  
Harry was not happy about this. He'd liked that wall. It kept him safe. It made life as the Boy Who Lived as uncomplicated and predictable as it could possibly be. And he wanted it back, damnit.  
  
He had his opportunity that night. Before turning off the light he unfolded the Map one last time, expecting to see Malfoy snug in the Slytherin dormitory and Snape burning the midnight oil in his office as usual. He caught his breath, hardly daring to believe it. The Map showed a black dot labeled Draco Malfoy moving towards the office of Severus Snape at a steady clip. Harry closed his eyes and opened them again. They hadn't lied. Malfoy was meeting Snape again.  
  
Harry grabbed his Invisibility Cloak from under his bed and started after him, ready to banish his demons once and for all.


	2. Malfoy's Mouth

Draco never wanked more than when he carried the bruises from his lover. For days, even the slightest movement made him hard. Yet as the bruises faded, his restlessness turned to wanting more. Getting Severus to indulge them both wasn't always easy. The professor worked too hard. Draco also thought Severus wasn't entirely comfortable with the idea of shagging his student. Even if Draco made it very clear that's what he wanted.  
  
So, after flirting and hinting for the last week, Draco finally decided to go with the direct approach. He stripped down to only a thin robe, waited until most the students were asleep and made his way to Snape's office. Just outside the door, he removed the robe, folded it up and set it on a nearby shelf. Then Draco stepped into the office—wearing nothing but the collar Severus had put around his neck.  
  
"I was wondering when you'd show up," Snape said over the sound of quill scratching parchment. "You have the lowest tolerance for celibacy of any man I've ever met."  
  
Draco grinned, one hand on his hip, the other starting at his band around his throat and trailing down his body, caressing himself.  
  
"Why should I go without when you are right here? You know you want me."  
  
Snape looked up, brows descending like two black crows into a scowl.  
  
"Don't ever presume to tell me what I want," he said shortly.  
  
"I suppose if I am wrong, I could find someone else interested," Draco drawled, playing with his own blond pubic hair now.  
  
Snape stood and stalked over to his lover, taking his mouth in a bruising kiss that left Draco with the slight tang of blood on his lips.  
  
"You have a bad habit of making threats you could never deliver on," Snape hissed, twining his fingers in Draco's pubes and _yanking_. "Walk out this door and you'd be back in a week, on your knees begging me to take you back."  
  
Draco hissed, head thrown back and his already half-hard prick, straining upward.  
  
"I'll beg now," he offered, gasping.  
  
"Yes, you will," Snape agreed, nipping at the exposed throat above the collar, down to the hollow between Draco's clavicles. "You'll beg to suck me, and if you're very convincing I might even let you."  
  
"Yes, Sir, please," Draco answered, trembling. "Now, Sir?"  
  
Severus answered by guiding Draco's hand to his fly and Draco eagerly unbuttoned the trousers, drawing them down with Severus' shorts as he sunk to his knees. Severus spread his legs a little, allowing Draco easier access to the erection that throbbed between his legs, but that was his only concession. The message was clear: Draco was going to be the one doing all the work tonight.  
  
"May I suck you? Please, Sir," Draco begged, looking up at Severus.  
  
Snape answered by twining his fingers in Draco's hair and pulling him closer, sliding his cockhead across Draco's parted lips. Draco didn't dare actually suck yet, not until he was told, but he parted his lips, hoping.  
  
"Suck me," Snape ordered, and at those words a salty burst of pre-cum dripped from his cock and smeared Draco's mouth and chin.  
  
"Yes, Sir." Draco gasped. He licked the tip first, delighting in the taste and feel, swirling his tongue before sliding his lips over the head. He brought his hand up to wrap around the shaft, angling and squeezing.  
  
Snape remained silent but pressed his lips into a thin line, perhaps so he wouldn't make himself that much less dignified by moaning. Draco hoped that was why.  
  
Draco's eyes slid half closed as he worked his mouth on the man's prick, sucking and licking. He didn't hold back his own enthusiasm. His own prick was hard and leaking, standing from his lap where he knelt.  
  
***  
  
When Harry sidled into the empty classroom, he could already hear noises coming from the office beyond– wet sucking sounds that he didn't have to strain his mind to interpret. The door, as before, was open; but wider than it had been, so instead of a sliver of light there was a thick slice, illuminating Malfoy's white-blond head bobbing over Snape's prick.  
  
Harry let out a shuddering breath. Lightheaded, he crept behind the door, peeking his head around to watch. He'd been hard from sheer reflex ever since opening the Maurauder's map; his cock throbbed in his shorts, damp and yearning. After almost two weeks of self-imposed abstention, he ached to touch himself.  
  
Malfoy swallowed Snape to the root and pulled back, leaving the man's cock slick with spit. Harry's own erection twitched in sympathy and he hissed through clenched teeth.  
  
 _This doesn't make me gay,_ Harry told himself as he slipped his hand down the front of his pants. _This doesn't make me gay. This doesn't make me gay. Oh bloody FUCK, this doesn't make me gay..._  
  
Harry's cock was living heat in his hand, every tender inch of it throbbing at even the lightest stimulation. He wrestled pants and cloak aside, letting the stale classroom air caress his oversensitive member. Draco's tongue lapped at Snape's prick, laying catlike licks from base to tip. Harry grunted and bucked into his palm.  
  
Malfoy ran his hands up Snape's thighs, arching his chest so that Harry could see the taut blush of his nipples. His arse bounced over his heels as he thrust his prick into empty air; his lids were at half-mast, eyes shadowed by a sweep of blond lash, and his breath around the weight of Snape on his tongue was quick and ragged. Malfoy was getting off on this, Harry realized. Getting off on sucking Snape, on being on his knees in front of a man and being used. Harry's grip tightened and he wanked himself furiously.  
  
Malfoy's mouth traveled under the saliva-wet cock, navigating the sensitive underside with the ease of a cartographer. He nuzzled the tight sac of Snape's scrotum lovingly before sucking one of the balls into his mouth. Snape exhaled in a hiss, the first sound Harry had heard him make this entire time. The potions master tossed his head back, lamplight pooling in the hollows of his cheekbones and the dent in his crooked nose. He was oddly captivating like this. Harry found himself dry-mouthed and unable to look away.  
  
Snape's unfocused gaze flickered over to where Harry stood. Their eyes locked. In a moment of horror that stole his breath, Harry realized that the Invisibility Cloak was pooled around his ankles, along with his pants. He stood, cock in hand, wholly exposed.  
  
Oh, fuck.  
  
Snape's eyes didn't widen—they narrowed. "Potter," he hissed. It took Draco a moment to react, and then his mouth froze on Snape's cock, crown still in his mouth. He looked first up at Snape, and then released the cock with a pop, eyes following Snape's gaze back over his shoulder to Harry. His grey eyes widened.  
  
Harry's muscles were screaming at his brain, along the lines of _RUN! RUN! RUN!_ but his brain, it seemed, had gone to pudding. He could no more move than he could remove his hand from his rapidly deflating prick. Draco's face flush scarlet and the look of dawning horror on his face might have pleased Harry at another time. Except that Snape looked like a oncoming storm...  
  
"Always spying," Snape sneered. "Never know when to leave things alone, do you, Potter? Get in here."  
  
The same sort of cottony blankness that had taken Harry over when Snape ordered Malfoy to come possessed him now. His skin felt fuzzy, fizzy, like Muggle soda spiked with Firewhiskey, and he tripped over his pants stumbling into the office before he had even decided to do so.  
  
With a flick of Snape's wand, the door closed—and locked. Draco was still on his knees, eyes on the floor now as he looked like he wanted to be swallowed by a crack in it.  
  
Snape's gaze flicked down to Harry's still exposed prick and back to the boy's eyes. "Figures you would be a voyeur."  
  
"I—" Harry licked his dry lips. "I'm not—not a..." He took a deep breath, cheeks flaming, and spat, "At least I'm not a pervert who shags his students!"  
  
"No, just one who gets off watching it," Snape retorted, and smiled. The smile wasn't pleasant but dark and his eyes glittered with an emotion Harry hadn't seen directed at him before.  
  
Harry sputtered, vacillating between fear and indignance, until a glance at Malfoy's chalk-white face shut him up completely.  
  
Snape looked at him with an appraising eye that made Harry want to squirm.  
  
"So is it my prick you were drooling over or Malfoy's mouth?"  
  
The question brought a gasp from Malfoy. Shockingly, his prick had not softened during this discovery and conversation.  
  
"Shut up," Harry whispered. Mortification had made him so red he thought he might combust.  
  
***  
  
It was bad enough to be found like this, by Potter of all people. Draco wanted to scramble away, to hide his nakedness and his arousal, but it was too late for that. Then Severus had asked the question and Draco looked up in surprise, wanting the answer. The question had sent a shiver of fear and desire so strong and so confusing through Draco's body that he was mortified.  
  
"Both," Harry said softly. He squeezed his eyes closed. "It was both of you."  
  
 _That_ would not have occurred to Draco. Potter hated him. It was one of the truths of Draco's world, one he hadn't wanted to accept in first year but had eventually come to expect, come to depend upon. He was so shocked he didn't control his face as he looked at Potter and, of course, Severus saw it. The man smiled. It was a predatory smile that made Draco's skin shiver and his cock twitch. It meant he was in trouble and he would probably enjoy it, regardless.  
  
"Shall we reward Potter for his honesty?" Severus asked and Draco nearly choked.  
  
Potter shivered, an uncontrollable tremor that ran from spine to shoulders. His cock, fuck, his _cock_ – purple-red with arousal and almost vertical against his flat belly, fluid leaking into the soaked thatch of dark hair.  
  
"R-reward?" Potter murmured.  
  
"Look at it, Draco," Snape ordered and Draco felt the compulsion to do what he had been forcing himself to avoid. Oh, gods. Potter's prick was exactly as he imagined it, or would have, he corrected, if he allowed himself to do that. He wondered if his face was now as red as his arse had been after his last paddling. He licked his lips without thinking about it and Severus laughed in that deep way that made Draco shake.  
  
Potter dropped his hands awkwardly in front of his erection, blushing to the roots of his unruly hair. He looked like a child caught wanking, trying to cover himself from his mother's expression of shock. It was almost erotic, that sudden shyness—fuck it, it was erotic.  
  
"You want to suck him," Severus said. It wasn't a question and it didn't have the anger Draco would have expected. After using Blaise to tease Severus, Draco would have expected fury at his attraction to The Boy He Despised. Draco found himself looking up in surprise but answering truthfully. "Y-yes, Sir."  
  
Potter made a noise, then. A half-groan of need and desire. His hands, clutching inelegantly at his swollen cock, tightened around it convulsively.  
  
"W-w-what—" he stammered and licked his lips again. "What if—I don't want him to—if I don't—if I want to leave?"  
  
Draco's face flushed anew, eyes dropping again, ashamed by the implication that Potter would refuse him. It was humiliating. Potter always did manage to do that to him.  
  
"You don't want to leave. We can see what you want," Severus answered Potter, voice full of smug confidence.  
  
***  
  
Harry hated Snape so much in that moment that he felt he would die of it. It was a fucking crime that he could be so composed and self-assured while Harry writhed like a bug on a pin.  
  
"This is a normal physical reaction," Harry said, voice hoarse. Then, before he could stop himself: "It does _not_ mean I'm gay."  
  
Snape's smile was wicked, eyes glittering.  
  
"So you are refusing to let Draco wrap those perfect lips around your very eager prick?"  
  
Harry's eyes were drawn inexorably to those lips, wet with precum and beautifully swollen.  
  
"I want..." he said unthinkingly, and stopped himself. "I don't—I don't know what I want."  
  
 _Tell me what to want..._  
  
"Coward," Snape taunted. "Where's that vaunted Gryffindor courage? You are going to leave here without rather than admit it?"  
  
Malfoy was on his knees, less than a foot in front in front of him and Harry could see the other boy tremble. He saw the bruised smudges beneath Malfoy's eyes, his clenched fingers, his sweat-limp hair. So very human suddenly, and so very vulnerable.  
  
"I want—him," Harry said. His voice cracked like thin ice, cracked and splintered in his mouth, and the words hurt but he said them anyway. "I want him. Fuck you, Snape, I do. Oh, _fuck_."  
  
And the words hung in the air, and he couldn't take them back, and his knees went weak at the sheer all-consuming relief of having this finally, finally taken completely out of his control.  
  
Snape didn't laugh as Harry would have thought, but nodded, seeming completely unsurprised by this. It was Malfoy—Draco—who looked up in shock, mouth falling open as he sucked in a sharp breath. "What?"  
  
"What do you want from me, Snape?" Harry snapped, crossing his arms tight across his chest. His cock looked ridiculous, a jutting peak of indignity, and he had to steel himself not to cover it again.  
  
Snape turned his eyes from Harry then and looked to Malfoy.  
  
"Go ahead, show him," he said. It was a command but it had an edge of tenderness to it.  
  
Malfoy looked between Snape and Harry as if he was waiting for one of them to say they were kidding. Or like a child being offered a sweet by someone who he thought would take it away the moment he reached for it. Then Harry saw the blond close his eyes and take a deep breath, before moving forward, still on his knees, close enough so that Harry could feel his hot breath on his prick.  
  
"You—you don't have to," Harry said, because he thought it should be said. Because he had a feeling that Draco would probably suck off a werewolf if Snape ordered him to.  
  
Grey eyes looked up then, meeting Harry's. It was not a look he ever expected to see in that face—raw need.  
  
"I know," Malfoy whispered, reaching a pale hand toward Harry's cock.  
  
A ragged noise tore itself from Harry's throat as Malfoy's palm closed around his shaft, somewhere between a grunt and a groan. Malfoy licked his lips— _perfect lips_ , Snape had called them. His fingertips were light, so light, a whisper of flesh stroking the weeping glans emerging from its crinkled rim of foreskin. Malfoy 's eyes were dark with concentration as they flickered over Harry's body, almost greedy, and Harry wondered, through the haze of arousal, what it was the other boy saw that made his gaze so intent. Knobbly knees and elbows, stringy muscle and bowed legs from clinging to a broom, summer sunburn peeling over his nose. Just a standard adolescent boy except for the scar, but Draco didn't look at the scar. He looked only at Harry.  
  
Snape stepped back, as if giving them room, hand circling his own prick as he took the role Harry had had previously, watching as Draco leaned forward. Surprisingly, the blond didn't lick or suck first. He rubbed his soft pale cheek up the length of Harry's shaft, eyes closing with a sigh.  
  
Harry couldn't help looking at Snape touching himself, slow languorous strokes with those bony ink-stained fingers. His cock was as long and thin as the man himself, strangely elegant as it rose from its smooth pelt of black hair. Then Draco's cheek was rubbing against him, like a cat rubs against its master's calf, and Harry's attention was wholly concentrated once more upon his own aching arousal.  
  
"Fuck, Malfoy," Harry murmured as Draco let out a sweet little sigh, still unable to address him by anything but his surname even as he had his face pressed against Harry's prick.  
  
Draco slid his mouth up to Harry's glans and kissed the salty slit. Harry thought he might pass out. Then that long pink tongue slid out and teased the slit, licking the fluid beaded there. Draco's hand around the base of Harry's prick tightened a little and his other came up to rest on Harry's hip, fingers stroking the ridgeline there as he flicked his tongue across the tip of Harry's cock. It was wet sparking electricity with every maddening brush of Draco's tongue, at once soft and unyielding as it circled his cockhead.  
  
"Fuck," Harry hissed again.  
  
Draco nuzzled him almost tenderly, then licked a trail of fire down his cock from tip to base. Harry's teeth clamped down on his bottom lip as Draco's tongue pressed against the sensitive web of skin where cock met scrotum. The blond hummed, inhaling Harry’s scent as he nuzzled the soft sac, licking and sucking.  
  
"Suck him, Draco," Snape hissed.  
  
Draco whimpered before he licked up Harry's shaft and then around the crown, sliding the tip under the edge of it. Then his mouth formed a little “o” just before it engulfed the head of Harry's prick.  
  
When Draco enveloped Harry in the wet heat of his mouth it was nothing like wanking in his hand, even with that self-warming lubricant he'd ordered from one of the _Busty and Bewitched_ magazines Ron hid under his bed, which had promised to approximate the feel of a real blowjob. The part of Harry that wasn't melting under the moist suction of Draco's lips around his cock was vaguely outraged at this egregious bit of false advertising.  
  
Snape's black eyes were focused on them, not wavering as he watched Draco suck Harry.  
  
"His mouth is perfect, isn't it Potter?" he asked, voice deep and silky.  
  
Draco's mouth was so damned soft inside. Surprising considering those barbed insults he threw around as easily as his father's name. Harry twined his fingers in the other boy's hair, sweaty and silky to the touch. Draco's tongue pressed against the fat vein pulsing on the underside of Harry's cock and Harry thrust forward unconsciously, wanting more of that slick vacuum swallowing him alive. Through his fogging glasses he saw Snape massaging his cock methodically, lips almost disappearing in a taut line, and Harry knew that he was getting off on watching him and Draco as much as Harry got off on watching Draco and Snape.  
  
"Yes, Draco, show him what you can do with that amazing mouth of yours, how deep you can take it," Snape encouraged, voice rumbling.  
  
Draco shuddered and his cock twitched. His hand on Harry's hip tightened just before he took more inside, Harry could feel the head slide along the tongue. Harry moaned as he sank into the slick velvet of Draco's mouth. This was what he'd always imagined a cunt would feel like, so warm and wet. Draco's eyes were heavy-lidded and his cock bobbed vertical between his lean thighs, drooling pre-come down to the tight twin pouches of his balls. Draco's lips looked incredible stretched around Harry's cock; Harry watched himself disappear down Draco's welcoming throat and felt lightheaded.  
  
Snape was leaning against the wall, now, mouth quirked up in a small smile as he slowly stroked his own prick.  
  
"Yes, more, Draco," he encouraged.  
  
And Harry was shocked when Malfoy did just that, pushing his face forward, until Harry could feel the head of his prick reach the end of that tongue and touch the back of the other boy's throat. Then Draco swallowed, the strong warm muscles squeezing as he did.  
  
Harry came. He couldn't hold himself. His orgasm ripped through him like a molten wave, and he could feel the sperm course through his cock and spurt into Draco's throat as though it was hot-wired into his overloaded nervous system. And this was nothing, _nothing_ like shooting into his hand after a furtive wank in the boys' dormitory. Even with the special lube.  
  
Draco’s throat continued to convulse around his prick, like it was milking him as the boy swallowed. Harry let out a shuddering gasp as he spent the last of himself. He opened his eyes and looked down at the kneeling boy, still lapping at the slit of his softening cock.


	3. Pale and Perfect

Draco had swallowed most of Potter’s come, though some had dribbled out the sides of his overfull mouth, now he licked his lips as he sat back on his ankles. He had just sucked off Harry Potter. On his knees. Potter's prick in his mouth. The enormity of that struck him. His own prick was very aware of this, standing stiff and leaking from his lap.  
  
Behind him, he could feel Severus' eyes as if his gaze had a solid weight to it. Draco's heart pounded so loud it nearly drowned out Potter's panting. The position, the entire situation, should have upset Draco. Or Severus. Or both. Instead, Draco thought he had never been more aroused in his life. He didn't dare a look up at those green eyes, not sure what he would find there. He waited for Severus, or Potter, to say something. Potter did.  
  
"Do you want me to, er—" he stammered, gesturing at Draco's prick. The tips of his ears were red. "Should I—bring you off?"  
  
"Do you want to touch him, Potter?" Severus voice asked in that silky tone Draco had never heard him use with anyone else.  
  
Potter bit his lip, blinking owlishly behind his fogged-up glasses. "I—I think it's...only fair," he said slowly. "That I do— _that_ —for him. He made me...er, so I should...er, well, turnabout is fair play, isn't it?"  
  
Draco waited, knees and backs of his feet pressed to the stone floor, feeling more naked and exposed than ever. He wanted Potter to touch him. He just didn't know what Severus would say.  
  
"How very ... Gryffindor, of you, Potter," Snape drawled. Draco heard the man moving and then saw Severus move around and sit in the overstuffed leather chair. Draco flushed. He knew what that usually meant. "Come sit in my lap, Draco," the Professor said.  
  
He hadn't given Draco permission to stand, so Draco crawled, almost painfully aware of his cock hanging heavy under him and Potter watching. Draco watched as Snape Summoned the jar of lube, and then began coating his erection, long fingers scooping out the thick stuff and working it up the shaft and over the crown.  
  
"Straddle the chair," Snape ordered.  
  
Draco risked a glance at where Potter still stood, pants around his ankles.  
  
Potter was standing with his head cocked to one side, teeth worrying his bottom lip, dark brow furrowed in an expression of—uncertainty, maybe? Anticipation? After-orgasm muddle-headedness? Or perhaps all three. His spent organ twitched as he caught Draco's eye and held it for a long moment before dropping his gaze with a blush.  
  
Draco smiled a little then. It was difficult not to find that sexy and ... adorable. He flushed at the thought. Draco was pretty sure what Severus planned now so he turned his back to Severus, throwing one leg over the right arm of the chair and then holding both arms of the chair with his hands, swinging his other leg around to the left side. It left him spread impossibly wide and facing Potter.  
  
Severus fingers immediately moved to part Draco's cheeks and thrust two fingers inside him. Draco's eyelids fluttered and he moaned, prick jumping.  
  
Potter's gaze dipped between Draco's splayed legs, at the juncture of knuckle and furled rim. Harry's hand drifted across his chest, ghosting over tight dark nipples and jutting ribcage, as though he wanted to touch himself but was reluctant to do so in front of others. A voyeur, but a reluctant exhibitionist. Even with Snape's clever fingers crooked against his prostate Draco could appreciate the irony.  
  
Draco's fingers dug into the leather upholstery until he could feel the wooden structure of the chair's arms beneath. He was panting into the stretch, dizzy with arousal and with the fact that Potter was watching him. He couldn't help the full body shudder when he felt Severus fingers slide out and the round thick knob being positioned.  
  
"Take it in," Snape ordered.  
  
Draco's gaze rose up Potter's body, forcing himself to watch the other boy's face as he lowered himself onto Severus' cock. It was a tableau of arousal, the galleon-sized circles of flush colouring his cheeks identical in hue to his rising cock. Potter's hands were fists at his sides now, stubbornly not stroking that gorgeous erection of his, still glistening from Draco's spit.  
  
Draco's arms shook with the effort it took to lower himself slowly, his body spasming around Severus' flesh as he did. He had to breathe deep, forcing himself to keep his eyes open so he could watch Potter as he did it.  
  
"Yes, swallow that prick," Severus hissed, hands on Draco's hips, helping steady him.  
  
Only when Draco felt his bollocks brushing against the coarse hair of Severus' did he begin to relax, letting his weight carry him the rest of the way so that their sacs were squashed comfortably together. Severus was taller than Draco, and he could feel the stubble on his chin as the Professor leaned over his shoulder, looking at Potter.  
  
"You just going stand there, Potter?" Severus snapped. Draco could hear the amusement in the gruff tone.  
  
"What do you want me to do?" Potter asked, his voice a whisper thick with arousal.  
  
"Come closer," Snape told Potter, drawing Draco against his own body so that his back rested against Severus' chest.  
  
Draco lay spread, stretched and full, but felt comforted at the same time. It was an obscenely vulnerable position to be in, especially with Potter there.  
  
Potter stepped out of his pants and meticulously stripped off socks and shoes. Even without his ankles constricted he stumbled as he crossed the room, made clumsy by nervousness; every step was followed by a hesitation, and Draco could almost _see_ the uncertainty gnawing at him, it was so palpable. Potter stopped a few feet away, fidgeting with the wire of his glasses and stealing furtive glances at Draco's stuffed hole.  
  
Severus' snorted, one hand coming up to rest on Draco's head, petting him softly, long fingers carding through silky strands. Draco hummed, his body clenching around the man's cock as he did. This is the point at which, normally, he would have begged Severus to touch his prick or let him touch himself. Now they both waited on Potter to make his decision.  
  
"You won't be able to do much from there," Severus taunted Potter, then nibbled on Draco's ear.  
  
"What do you want me to do?" Harry asked again. This time the question was directed at Draco.  
  
Draco's eyes widened and his face flushed, eyes glancing down at Potter's prick and then his own. Draco had only spoken once since Potter had come into the room. Now he had to work to find his voice. "Touch me," he managed to whisper.  
  
"Kneel in front of him, Potter," Severus added and Draco felt the man's prick twitch inside him as he said it.  
  
Potter thumped to his knees. He reached forward, tentative, and his fingertips brushed Draco's throbbing prick before he snatched his hand back as though he'd been burned. The touch had been enough to make Draco moan shamelessly, body shuddering around Severus and causing a sharp intake of breath from the older man.  
  
"Do it, touch him," Severus ordered, voice like gravel now.  
  
"I don't know how," Potter admitted, blushing so hard his cheeks looked violet. "I've only ever done it to myself. I don't know ... I don't ..."  
  
He took a deep breath and reached for Draco's cock again, face so set with dogged determination that Draco would have laughed if Potter's palm hadn't closed around him. As it was, Draco couldn't stop himself from arching into that hand, a motion which moved him up Severus' cock and resulted in both of them gasping.  
  
"Even you can figure this out," Snape barked at Potter. "Yes, like that."  
  
Potter opened his mouth to retort, then dropped his eyes and closed it again. He stroked up Draco's shaft, rubbing the rim of foreskin before pinching the glans between thumb and forefinger, so more fluid drooled from the splayed slit and moistened his palm.  
  
"Oh, oh," Draco gasped, hips rotating in Severus lap, eager and so far beyond aroused he couldn't stop himself.  
  
"Yes," Severus hissed. "He's beautiful, isn't he, Potter?" The affection in the question surprised Draco.  
  
Potter shrugged, but the spots of colour on his cheeks returned. With the hand now slowly stroking Draco's needy prick, Potter reached down between his own legs to grope at his balls.  
  
Draco tried to keep his eyes open enough to watch, dividing his attention between the Potter's face and what his hands were doing. He couldn't help lick his lips again at the sight of the boy's prick. Draco kept rotating his hips, fucking himself on Severus' prick and into the circle of Potter's fingers. He didn't hold back his own whimpers as he did.  
  
Harry was wanking Draco and himself with the same firm strokes, all friction and no subtlety. Draco could imagine Harry fisting himself in the Gryffindor dormitory, swift no-nonsense pumping until he spilled into the crimson sheets, coming to a virgin's vague and hazy fantasies.  
  
"C-can I?' Draco gasped and Severus answered, "yes" as he bit down on Draco's shoulder. It was the last push and Draco cried out, his seed erupting from his prick in hot spurts over Potter's hand, drops spattering on Draco's belly. Below him, Severus arched up, thrusting hard and deep as he moaned, emptying himself inside of Draco.  
  
***  
  
Harry looked down at the come dribbling between his fingers. It was more watery than his was, more viscous as it trickled down to pool in his cupped palm.  
  
"You came on me," he accused. "And you didn't even _warn_ me."  
  
Draco laughed, a breathy sound as he leaned back against Snape, shuddering in the aftermath of his orgasm.  
  
Harry wanted to smear Draco's come across his own still-hard, still-needy cock but hesitated, reluctant for a reason he couldn't quantify or name. He glanced up at Snape, still rocking against Draco's arse, wanting to ask yet again what he was supposed to do but unable to make his mouth shape the words.  
  
"Touch yourself," Snape ground out, digging his fingers into Malfoy's thighs. "Use his semen. Slick your cock with it. _Now_ , Potter."  
  
It was the “now” that had Harry's hand halfway to his cock before his brain even registered the order. Draco's ejaculate was still warm when it touched his skin, wet and pearly and smelling pungently of the other boy. Harry gasped as he thrust into the stained hand, shivering with the same delicious dirty feeling that watching porn on Dudley's computer gave him, or eying the swell of a girl's chest in a tight jumper. This was wrong, this was disgusting, another boy's jism— _Malfoy's_ cum—squelching between his fingers as he fucked himself with his hand watching Snape's juices trickle from Malfoy's hole.  
  
Draco shifted, reaching forward and his long pale hand came to rest on top of Harry's, so that every time Harry thrust downward, the head rubbed against the boy's palm.  
  
"Fuck," Harry hissed, bucking up to feel that smooth palm again. Snape's gaze was so intense he thought it would blister him. "Fuck."  
  
Harry came again under two pairs of watching eyes, kneading his balls and thrusting his prick into Malfoy's hand. He tossed his head back, tremors of pleasure quaking down his spine and into his groin.  
  
"This is ... so wrong ..." he gasped, glasses slipping down the sweaty bridge of his nose. "I watched you ... and now ..."  
  
"And now we have watched you in return," Snape finished dryly. "Appropriate, no?"  
  
Draco gave Harry's slick prick another squeeze and withdrew his hand, bringing it to his own mouth and licking it. And it was all so fucking far from “appropriate” Harry laughed the last of his orgasm onto Malfoy's tongue.  
  
"What happens now?" he asked, when he could speak again.  
  
Draco leaned back again, head on Snape's shoulder and smiling as he licked his fingers like they were covered in syrup rather than Harry's spunk.  
  
"Neither of you are to speak of this with anyone else," Snape answered.  
  
Harry snorted and rolled his eyes. His prick felt deliciously raw from having a second orgasm wrung from it, limp and spent between his naked thighs.  
  
"Because I'm sure Dumbledore would be really bloody understanding if I explained that I caught you shagging a student and decided to join in."  
  
"You might be surprised by what the Headmaster understands," Snape retorted.  
  
Harry's eyes widened. "No," he said, "no, Dumbledore would never ..."  
  
Snape chuckled then, helping Draco sit up. The blond pulled his legs off the arms of the chairs with a wince and got shakily to his feet.  
  
"Are you okay?" Harry asked Draco, the words spilling out before he could stop them.  
  
The blond looked at him then, some of the haughty demeanor Harry was used to returning to his face. "I'm fine," he said, looking Harry up and down with a smirk.  
  
"Why do you wear that collar?" Harry asked. His eyes flickered to the band of leather, dark green with a silver buckle, that was snug against Draco's pale throat.  
  
Draco's eyes flickered over to Snape, but he held his chin a bit higher. "I choose to."  
  
Harry looked at Snape as well, feeling some of the patented Gryffindor boldness flood back into him.  
  
"Do you make him wear it?" he demanded. He pushed himself to his feet so he could met the professor's eyes without having to look up at him.  
  
"Potter, you were only just inducted into the realms of sexual experience fifteen minutes ago," Snape said witheringly. "It would strain your feeble imagination to its limits if I attempted to explain my relationship with Draco. Suffice it to say that there are games of power men chose to play; ours are erotic in nature. The collar symbolizes what Draco and I share. A bond of trust, and of submission. Do you understand?"  
  
"Yes," Harry said stubbornly. "Maybe. Well, no, not really."  
  
Draco snorted and Summoned his wand, casting a Cleaning Charm on himself.  
  
Snape sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "What connotations do collars have, Potter?"  
  
"Ownership," Harry replied promptly. Then he frowned, realizing what he'd said. "So you ... own ... Draco?"  
  
Snape and Draco exchanged exasperated glances. Draco shook his head. "It's none of your business, Potter," he snapped. "I make my own choices."  
  
"In a manner of speaking," Snape said, dismissing the matter as too complex to explain with an airy wave of his hand. "But I think," he added, eying Harry's cock, "that perhaps you understand the games men play better than you let on."  
  
Harry flushed and shrugged, no more willing than Snape to have this discussion now—though he knew somehow that they would have to have it eventually.  
  
"You two return to your dorms. It's late," Snape told them. Malfoy nodded, glancing at Harry before leaning in and giving a Snape a brief kiss on the mouth. Then he moved to the door, picking up his robe and sliding into it.  
  
That's when Harry's eyes focused on Malfoy's arm. Realising, at last, he was seeing that left forearm. The one he was so sure would bare the hideous skull and snake of Voldemort. The arm was clean, pale and perfect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Harry's hooked. You?]


	4. To Forget

Harry paced in front of the deceptively smooth stone wall, trying to collect his hectic thoughts enough to tell the Room of Requirement what he needed.

"A place where I can think," he thought, "a place where I can be alone to ... sort out what just happened ..."

When he turned, Harry saw that the familiar door had appeared. With a sigh of relief he wrenched it open and stepped inside.

"The _fuck_!" Harry clapped a hand over his mouth and gaped goggle-eyed at the stark walls gleaming with racks of whips, gags, paddles, crops, and other implements whose, er, unique configuration left no guesswork as to what purpose they were intended.

"Not what I wanted!" Harry said loudly, not wanting to dwell—at _all_ —on whether or not this were actually true.

He closed his eyes tightly. When he opened them, the room had reconfigured itself: it now looked like the office of a Muggle therapist, with a leather couch, framed Rorschach prints on the walls, bookshelves stocked with texts on the psychology of adolescent boys, and a potted azalea in the corner.

"Appropriate," he muttered, throwing himself onto the couch.

God! What had he _done_?

And with Snape and Malfoy of all people. And in Snape's office! It was probably somebody's fantasy to do it with a professor, but certainly not his. At least not before this. At least ... not as far as he had been aware. But if tonight had taught him anything, it was that there were sinister depths to the sexual psychology of one Harry James Potter that had previously gone wholly unnavigated and, indeed, totally unimagined.

The bit that really disturbed Harry, now that he thought about it—and damned if he couldn't stop thinking about it—was the fact that the, well, the poofter bit, the getting off on blokes bit, didn't really surprise him. He'd almost been expecting it, the same way a woman who finds a lump in her breast expects the cancer diagnosis. Morbid prescience, that was it. Reading the symptoms. Expecting the worst.

After all, Harry thought to himself, they weren't random hard-ons if you always got them in the shower after Quidditch practice watching Oliver Wood soap his balls, were they?

"Oh, Merlin's saggy arse!" Harry groaned, burying his face in his hands. "I'm ... I'm a ... a ..." He couldn't say it. The word got stuck at the back of his throat.

"So what if I do have ... that sort of ... inclination," Harry reasoned, standing. "Well, that doesn't necessarily mean I'm a ... ehem. Like Malfoy and Snape." He began to pace. "It's living in a boys' dormitory, probably. All those hormones flying around like bludgers, knocking a normal bloke off course. I mean, I've seen more of Ron and Dean than I have of Hermione and Cho, haven't I? Perfectly natural that when I start thinking about ... sex and stuff, it's Ron and Dean who'd come into my head. Well, maybe not Ron ..."

'But what about Piers?' a little voice niggled at the back of Harry's mind. 'You pulled each other off behind Petunia's garden shed ages before you came to Hogwarts. Any rogue hormones flying around Little Whinging would have been sucked up by Aunt Petunia's Hoover.'

Harry quashed the voice irritably. All right, fine, so perhaps, if he was being totally honest with himself, this ... thing, this liking-men thing, had made itself a nuisance as early as puberty had.

But the _other_ thing, the thing without a name, the thing that had stirred in him when he'd seen Malfoy's collar and spanked arse, when Snape had given him orders ... that was new.

And it was terrifying.

Bad enough to be a poofter, but a pervert? One of those twisted nancies with nipple rings who went to the leather clubs in the seedy parts of London and got off on pain ... No. That wasn't him. That couldn't be him. He was Harry Potter, Chosen One, hope of the wizarding world. He was just not the sort of person who took it up the arse while wearing a dog collar. Maybe that was Malfoy, but Malfoys were weird, all that pure-blood inbreeding had gone a bit wrong somewhere and produced a nutter. But Harry was ... well, he was HARRY. Things like this didn't happen to people like him.

Except that the unthinkable things had happened to him.

And he'd enjoyed them.

Harry covered his face with his hands and moaned. He couldn't deal with this, not days away from the holidays, not with a sheaf of unfinished assignments as high as his nose, and not bone-weary and ready to nod off on the therapist's couch, existential crises or not.

He rose and, donning the Invisibility Cloak, left the Room of Requirement to seek out bed and a hopefully dreamless sleep.

***

When Harry entered the Gryffindor common room, however, Ron and Hermione were waiting for him. The rest of the Gryffindor seemed to have already gone to their dorms and even Ron was yawning widely, apparently more asleep than awake.

"Harry, where have you been?" Hermione demanded immediately.

Harry started. "Nowhere," he said guiltily. Hermione's eyes narrowed, and he realized that being evasive only made it sound as though he were hiding something—which, of course, he was. "I went to visit Hagrid," he amended. Then, realizing that this story could and, knowing Hermione, probably would be run by Hagrid to check his veracity, continued, "But he wasn't in, so I came back."

"It's snowing out and you don't look like you've been out in the snow," Hermione challenged, lips pursed as she looked at his hair and shoes.

Ron huffed. "So he isn't wet, doesn't mean anything," he tried but didn't look convinced either.

"I dried off when Filch chased me all over the castle," Harry said, annoyed. "Miss Norris tipped him off. D'you think cats can actually see through Invisibility Cloaks, or can she literally sniff out trouble? We should ask Hagrid. He knows all about creatures. Cats probably don't interest him, though, as they aren't a direct threat to the public health and general well-being." Harry forced himself to halt, realizing that he was babbling and only making the whole situation that much more suspicious.

Hermione was still eying him, but Ron yawned again and frowned, looking like he was still trying to figure out what Harry had just said. The pause had given Hermione an opening and, not unexpectedly, she took it.

"You haven't been following Malfoy around again?" she demanded, returning to what had become a running argument.

"Still on that tack? I swear, Hermione, you've become more obsessed with Malfoy than I have," Harry said, trying to sound flippant and just coming off as peeved. "More obsessed than you _accuse_ me of being, anyway."

Ron looked between them like he'd rather be anywhere else and was pretty clear he didn't know who was more dangerous to side with. "We should go to bed," he argued and got a nasty look from Hermione.

"I'm with Ron," Harry said. He tried to fake a yawn, but a perfectly honest one overtook him, and he realized just how tired he actually was.

Hermione gave a huge sigh and shook her head. "Well, Malfoy will be gone for the holidays. Maybe things will settle down and we can get some studying done."

"Nobody's looking forward to that more than I am, Hermione," Harry said, meaning it fervently.

***

Draco hurried down the dungeon corridor, careful to be as quiet as possible, to avoid Filch and Mrs Norris. While Severus could certainly get him out of any punishment, or at least take it for himself, it was better if no one knew about his frequent visits to his Professor's rooms after curfew. Draco reached the door to the office and paused, taking several deep breaths before knocking.

"Come in, Mister Malfoy," came the harried sounding command from within.

Draco didn't try to control the smirk as he slipped into the room, closing the door behind him.

Severus was stooped over a bowl of some lightly coloured liquid, his resemblance to a carrion crow even more striking than usual. "Come in," he said distractedly. "And don't smirk, it's unbecoming."

Draco didn't buy that last part for a moment. He arched an eyebrow and sauntered forward.

"I'm going to need to remove some of your memories," Severus said without preamble.

Draco frowned. He recognised the Pensieve for what it was. "You don't trust me," he accused.

Severus' gaunt face drew over with annoyance. "Don't act like a child, Draco," he snapped. "You are a promising Occlumens, but you do not have the skill yet to withstand the gaze of the Dark Lord should he choose to cast it on you, though I pray he doesn't. And your pretty blond head is far too full of incriminating evidence for me to allow you to re-enter that den of vipers without ... protection. For both of us." He gestured to the Penseive.

Draco knew it was true and even hearing the reminder of what he might face upon his return home sent a chill down his spine. Severus was more than his lover, he was his protector amidst the servants of the Dark Lord. "I get them back though ..."

A brief smile flickered over Severus' features. "Of course," he said, with surprising softness. "I can't have you forgetting all I've taught you, now can I?"

Draco's cheeks actually pinked as he thought about all the "lessons" he had had with Snape. "Oh, maybe we should add just a little more before ..." he suggested, leaning against the desk.

Severus hesitated, looking from the Penseive to the lithe young body flexing suggestively for him. Draco could see he’d won.

"Well," Severus drawled, leaning against the desk, "I suppose I should give you a sound fucking before you go, just to keep you satisfied until you return. I would hate to have to kill you when you got back because I found that you had fucked Walden Macnair."

Draco couldn't help the grimace at that. "I would never let that oaf touch me.”

Severus let out an uncharacteristic snort of laughter. "Get your clothes off, Draco," he said, a grin tugging at the corner of his thin mouth.

The thought of Mcnair was a buzz kill, but Severus' look more than made up for it. Draco preened, slowly unfastening his robes.

Severus leaned back, letting an ink-stained hand stray to the growing bulge beneath his robes.

Draco loved teasing and made quite a production of letting his robes slide to the floor. He had purposefully not worn anything beneath them, so that now his long lean body and flushed erection was on display.

"We're going to try something a little different today," Severus said. He took a slim vial of lubricant from his robe, not the amber concoction that he usually used or the green that Draco knew was the cool lube they had used the last time, but a thick blue liquid.

"Face-up on my desk, Draco. I want to see your expression when I put this inside you."

Draco's eyes focused on the vial, both excitement and trepidation making him shiver. He carefully sat on the edge, lying back and bringing up his heels to rest on the edge, feet hooked over the side of the desk.

"Remember the safe word?" Severus queried, arching an eyebrow. When Draco nodded, he said, "Good. Use it if you're in need." He uncorked the vial and a smell like cinnamon rose from it. Severus slicked his fingers, wincing a little, before placing a light fingertip at Draco's ready arsehole.

Draco couldn't help but tense, unsure of what the oil would do but knowing Severus as he did, he knew it would be a test of his limits. At first, he felt only the smooth oil and his body opening to that touch. But as the finger moved, sliding into him, it began to tingle, to warm.

Severus twisted his finger suddenly inside of Draco, and with the friction came a sudden sting, the sort that rough carpet makes when rubbed too fast across skin. And the sting did not diminish. It grew hotter, now more like holding a hand just above a candle, an undulating burn that made Draco gasp.

Draco's heart sped up, and if he didn't know Severus as well as he did, he would have been truly frightened. He found himself wondering if he did say the safe word, was there an antidote? A look into those intense black eyes and he knew the answer and knew he wouldn't say the word. Instead, he gripped sides of the desk with both hands and lifted his hips, pushing more of Severus' finger into him.

Severus' look of approval was its own reward. More oil was dribbled down Draco's crack, a trail of liquid fire. The burn in his hole subsided to a dull throb, then surged again, tearing a hiss from between his clenched teeth. Draco was shaking, waiting to see what would come next. He wondered if Snape would fuck him with this, if the oil would burn his cock as well. Eyes beginning to water, he looked up, focusing on his lover.

Then Severus found his prostate and the world exploded in an icy-hot rush of sensation. Draco's back arched and he keened, cock throbbing with the burn of the oil.

"Enough now, I think," Severus' distant voice said, withdrawing his fingers. He said something, a spell Draco didn't know, and the searing burn subsided to a tingle, and was gone.

Draco couldn't help the laugh, part relief and part disappointment that he wouldn't get to see Severus struggle with that oil on his cock.

Severus, no doubt following Draco's train of thought, said dryly, "This particular lubricant is best used on the rectal tissues alone." He reached into his robes again, this time withdrawing the familiar amber vial.

Draco smiled, happy to see the more soothing lube. He had enjoyed the thrill of the new one and even more that he had pleased his lover by accepting it.

"You pushed your limits today," Severus said as he slid his fingers inside of Draco a second time. "Know that I will never ask something of you that I do not think you will be able to handle." The seriousness in Severus' eyes when he said this impregnated them with greater import than Draco had at first credited, but then Severus' cockhead was nudging at his arse and thoughts of anything else were forgotten.

"Oh, please, yes," Draco managed, pulling his knees up, towards his own chest to spread himself further for Severus.

Severus twined his fingers in Draco's hair, holding him down to the desk with it while taking long, deep strokes within him. "If you—give any of this—to—any of those filthy—Death—Eaters," Severus panted in time to his thrusts, "I'll make—you wish—you'd never been—ahhh!" A shudder of pleasure interrupted him. "Born," he finished when it had passed.

"Don't—want—Them!" Draco gasped out his reply. The only person besides Severus that he wanted was Potter. Ever since that night when he had caught them, Draco had found himself obsessively replaying the events over and over. His attraction to Potter predated that, of course. Severus had found that out the previous summer while giving Draco Occulmancy lessons.

"Bloody—good—thing," Severus groaned, emptying his load into Draco's arse.

Draco's cock bounced between them, dripping pre-come onto the soft white hair that sparsely decorated his belly.

Severus bent swiftly down, not unlike he had over the Penseive earlier, and sucked the length of Draco's cock into his mouth.

Draco practically shouted, entire body straining to hold back since he did not yet have Severus' permission to come.

And Severus did not seem ready to give it. He drew his head back slowly, in one long hollow-cheeked suck that felt as though it would wring the come right out of Draco's cock. Severus nuzzled his way down to Draco's balls and gave each a teasing lick before sucking him back down again.

"Can't—arrgghh," Draco babbled, unable to speak coherently. The edge of the desk dug into his palms as he held on so tight he felt like he might break the skin.

Finally, finally—"Come," Severus ordered.

Only moments later, Draco's cock throbbed, pumping his release into the Snape's mouth as he cried out, nearly in tears from the pleasure and relief.

Severus swallowed quickly and did not linger between Draco's legs, standing and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "Another memory to remove," he said softly, expression inscrutable.

Draco could only lay there panting, grey eyes looking up at Severus. "How much will I know when they are gone?" he asked softly, worried that such a loss would leave him feeling vulnerable.

Severus was silent for a moment. "You won't remember exactly what happened between us," he said finally, pulling his robes closed. "You will, however, retain the feelings engendered by our ... activities. You will still feel loyalty to me, but you will not know why. I'm banking on the Dark Lord seeing it as no more than an adolescent crush." He looked away. "I hope you will see it that way as well. It will render things less ... complicated."

Draco frown, unhappy with the loss even if he knew it was a safer choice than sending him into the Dark Lord's presence. His mind flashed on the image of himself on his knees, sucking Potter's cock and knew that he had to let Severus do this. He nodded. He slowly slipped from the desk, picking up his clothes.

Serverus stepped forward, reaching for Draco’s throat. Startled but still trusting Severus completely, Draco held still and then realised with a painful throb inside his chest that Severus was removing the collar from Draco’s neck. The sense of loss made Draco feel sick and something must have shown on his face because Severus cupped his check for a moment. “Just until your memories are returned,” he reminded Draco and rewarded him with a light kiss on his lips before moving away.

Severus watched Draco dress and, when he was done, led him to the Penseive by the hand like a child. "This won't hurt," he said, placing the tip of his wand at Draco's temple. "And even if it does ... well, you won't remember."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Holidays and angst...]


	5. Home at Last

Draco boarded the train to London, feeling a queasy squirming in the pit of his stomach. He had always looked forward to holidays with his parents. At Christmas, the Malfoy Manor was always extravagantly decked out with ribbons and holly, fairy lights and tinkling bells. The presents under the tree, wrapped in animated paper, sent him in to ecstasies of anticipation and his stocking, a lush velvet one, would always be bulging with sweets and trinkets on Christmas morning.  
  
His parents used to throw lavish parties with guests from the best families and highest ranks of government all decked out in finery that outshone even the fairy lights. Long tables would be laden with delicacies from all over the wizarding world.  
  
And his parents were always the most fashionable and beautiful people of all, with Draco himself dressed as fine and paraded before the guests so they could admire the Malfoy heir. He had enjoyed the attention and had always talked his mother into letting him stay up extra late. Even when he'd been put to bed, he would sneak back out and watch the party from the top of the staircase.  
  
This year would not be like that. Not only was his father in Azkaban and the Malfoys in disgrace, but the Dark Lord had taken over their home as his residence. Most of the Dark Lord's followers, even Draco's own aunt, terrified him. If he knew a way to avoid facing them he would. Yet the Dark Lord expected him back and Draco worried for his mother.  
  
Stepping off the train at the platform 9 3/4, Draco looked about for his mother, eager to see her face.  
  
Narcissa stepped forward, a grey figure in the midst of the cheery crowd of people, all in various stages of greeting loved ones. Where their faces were lit with the excitement of the season, hers was drawn and pale, deep exhausted lines bracketing her mouth. She looked as though she had aged a decade in a few short months.  
  
Draco walked quickly to her, reaching out his hand for hers. "Mother," he said softly.  
  
Narcissa flinched when he raised his hand, artfully disguising the gesture by readjusting her hat. "Darling," she said, taking his hands in hers. "I think you grow every time I see you."  
  
"I've missed you," Draco said, giving her hands a gentle squeeze. He was shocked by his mother's appearance. He felt that kind of helpless nausea again and tried to swallow it back, smiling for his mother.  
  
Narcissa gave him a fleeting smile, and for a moment her haggard features were alight once more with all the warmth and vivacity she had once exuded. But just as soon as it had appeared it was gone again, and Narcissa was once more shrouded in misery.  
  
"Lobbin will get your bags," she said, signaling to the lumpy little house-elf waiting by the family's Rolls.  
  
Draco nodded. He didn't want to let go of her hand, so he gently lifted it to the inside of his elbow to escort her to the car.  
  
During the drive back to Malfoy Manor, Narcissa rambled about a new hybrid she was working on, a rose/tarantula mutant that, when planted on the grounds, would smell divine but strangle Muggle trespassers with thorny vines. The febrile gleam in her eye when describing the plant reminded Draco uncomfortably of Aunt Bellatrix, an association strengthened by the silent presence of Walden Macnair in the drivers' seat.  
  
Macnair gave Draco looks that made his skin crawl. Looks that made Draco swear to himself that he would never allow himself to be caught alone with the creepy man. The fact that the man was staying in their home had Draco wondering if he would even be able to sleep at night. Last summer, at least, Professor Snape had been there as well, which had given Draco some measure of safety.  
  
"...ripped to SHREDS if they so much as step an inch within the borders of Malfoy land," Narcissa was saying, pounding white-knuckled fists on her lap for emphasis. "Those filthy Muggle hunters are always tramping through our woods with their, what are they called, gonnes, but soon they'll learn not to be so bold—ah, here's the Manor now."  
  
Draco didn't know whether to be relieved or not. He wanted to be home, but home has stopped being the safe place it should be. He nodded, giving her the fake smile that he had perfected.  
  
As they pulled into the drive, white peacocks scattered at the approach of the Rolls. Draco was disturbed to see Macnair swerve slightly to try and hit the birds. Fortunately, he wasn't successful. He parked the Rolls carelessly, clipping a stone vase with the bumper. Draco saw his mother wince.  
  
After Macnair exited the car, fumbling in his pocket for a pack of fags, Narcissa suddenly leaned over to Draco, gripping his hand with crushing force in her own.  
  
"The house is not safe anymore," she hissed. "My sister watches my every move and reports to the Dark Lord—I dare nothing under HIS nose. But I'll have us away on some pretext as soon as I can, Draco, and then we can talk."  
  
She didn't wait for Draco's reply before getting out of the car. "I shall expect you to pay for that vase," Draco heard her tell Macnair imperiously. The man only laughed.  
  
Draco glared at him, wishing he could put the man in his place for treating Narcissa with such disdain. Two years before, most of these Death Eaters weren't good enough to be even serve the Malfoys, let alone stay in their home. From the outside, at least, the manor seemed remarkably unchanged. The pillars were wrapped with silver ivy, and house-elves worked busily at clipping the newly grown holly hedges into festive shapes. The little creatures bowed when Draco and Narcissa passed them, and Draco was pleased to see that at least someone at the Manor retained a degree of respect for its family.  
  
The great hall was splendid with twinkling lights and elegant gold tinsel, and a magnificent evergreen glittering with baubles reared almost to the ceiling. It was just like the Christmases of Draco's past—but, of course, for the exception of Bellatrix Lestrange striding towards them with open arms, her mad face a parody of a welcoming grin.  
  
"Little Draco, home at last!" she said in her high-pitched parrot's screech of a voice. "How Cissy has missed her little Draco! So worried she's been, creeping around the Manor wringing her hands and jumping at shadows. Perhaps Lucius' heir at home shall set her in festive spirits once more, hm?" She giggled, eyes far too bright.  
  
Draco had no idea what to say to such a completely inappropriate speech, his cheeks turning pink with embarrassment and trying not to flinch at her voice.  
  
Without warning Bellatrix lunged, engulfing him in arms as thin and brittle as birds' bones.  
  
"Oh, my Lord will be so pleased!" she shrieked, breath stinking of rotten meat as it gusted over Draco's face. "All the chicks come home to roost, save one of course, caged in Azkaban. My Lord does love to have his chickies all accounted for..." She giggled again, tapering into another shriek at the end.  
  
Draco shuddered violently, clenching his teeth to keep from shouting or worse. He tried to pull back, to get away from her, his heart pounding frantically and his face probably flushed.  
  
After what seemed like an age of Bellatrix rocking him back and forth, laughing madly to herself, she released him, giving his hair a parting ruffle.  
  
"Such a pretty boy," she whispered, with a sly expression Draco did not trust. "Oh, my Lord will be VERY pleased with you, pretty boy..."  
  
"Bellatrix!" Narcissa said in a strangled voice. "That's enough!"  
  
Bellatrix pouted but stepped back, black crinoline skirts rustling.  
  
"Is the Dark Lord in residence?" Narcissa asked, visibly struggling to regain her composure.  
  
Bellatrix shrugged a bare corpse-white shoulder, swinging her straggly black curls almost coquettishly.  
  
"My Lord is out and away, away and he didn't tell ME where he was going or when he'll be back," Bellatrix sing-songed. "But he'll be home by Christmas for certain, so take care you enjoy your pretty boy as much as you can until then, Cissy dear, because who knows who'll be enjoying him after that."  
  
With that she turned on her heel and sailed out.  
  
Draco blanched, stomach giving a uncomfortable roll as he turned wide grey eyes to his mother. The innuendo had been there last summer but this was becoming disturbingly blatant. Was it because he still had not accomplished his "task"?  
  
Narcissa raised a shaking hand to her brow. "My sister is delightful, isn't she?" she said in a voice almost as high and brittle as Bellatrix's. "Why don't I show you those tarantula roses I've been telling you about, Draco," she continued, forcing a note of false cheer into her voice. "I'll give you a tour of my garden."  
  
They still hadn't removed their cloaks and Draco was holding his gloves in hand. "That sounds like a wonderful idea," he said, still shaken by the encounter.  
  
Draco followed Narcissa's hurried footsteps, crunching shriveled leaves underfoot as he walked down the winding flagstone paths that led through her garden, dead this time of year. Bare icy branches that in the summer bore the most lush and fragrant roses were stark against the winter sky, looking almost like claws. Draco repressed a shudder. It was like walking through a cemetery.  
  
He followed her to her favourite greenhouse for 'experimental' plants, the moist warmth an immediate contrast to the dry cold outside. Draco had fond memories of sitting on a wooden bench as a small boy, watching his mother with her plants.  
  
Once inside the greenhouse, Narcissa immediately pulled her son into a tight hug, as unlike her sisters' as it was possible to be.  
  
"Oh, Draco," she whispered, a rising sob held firmly in check. "You can't know how often over these months I've wished you were here, but now that you are, I'm afraid I was terribly selfish in wishing it at all."  
  
"I have been so worried about you," he admitted, inhaling that combination of French perfume and her unique scent that he found so comforting.  
  
"I know how to handle myself among men such as these," Narcissa said, breaking the hug. "A skill honed by a long marriage to a man not as careful in his friends as he ought to be. It's you I'm worried about, Draco."  
  
He lifted his chin, trying to adopt an expression he was used to seeing on his father's face. "I can handle myself," he said, attempting to reassure both her and himself.  
  
Narcissa's smile was a mixture of amusement and sadness. "That's because you underestimate them, dear," she said kindly, "and overestimate yourself. You haven't seen of what they're capable." A fine shudder rippled through her slender shoulders.  
  
He was sure of that and even more certain he didn't want to. "How is father?"  
  
Narcissa sighed. "He writes to me," she said. "Of what, I do not know. All my mail is intercepted. I am then told what he has said by my keepers, and instructed what to write back." She affected a high, artificially cheerful voice, mimicking sarcastically, "Dear Lucius, all is well at Malfoy Manor. I tend my plants and read all day. I am happy and healthy and I do not live in utter, crippling fear for my life every day. Love, your wife." She laughed humorlessly, a sound like grating glass.  
  
Draco's reached to soothe her, one hand on her arm. "We will survive this, Mother," he said as firmly as he could.  
  
Narcissa smiled, a forced harsh quirking of her lips. "I know," she said, but didn't sound as though she believed it.  
  
"Anything I should know about what's been happening?" Draco asked, knowing this was one of the only safe places to even ask that.  
  
Narcissa hesitated before answering, avoiding Draco's eyes. "Nothing you need to worry yourself with yet," she said. Then, after a pause. "Avoid Macnair. Do whatever is possible to avoid the attention of the Dark Lord as well, though I fear that will be far more difficult."  
  
Draco nearly snorted at that. For reasons he didn't understand, those snake-like eyes always seemed on him whenever he was in the room with the Dark Lord.  
  
Narcissa sighed again. "I wish Severus were here," she said softly.  
  
Draco wished the Potions Master was too. Snape always seemed protective of Narcissa and his Unbreakable Vow meant added protection for Draco, as well.  
  
"Perhaps he will arrive with the Dark Lord," he said.  
  
"I hope so," Narcissa said vehemently.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Can Severus protect him?]


	6. Gay Holidays

Harry couldn't stop thinking about Malfoy's arse. Actually, scratch that. Harry couldn't stop thinking about ARSE. Men's arses, to be exact.  
  
For instance, how could he never have noticed Bill Weasley's? It was tight and compact, like the rest of him, and Harry imagined that his buttocks would be dimpled with muscle. Charlie's, now, Charlie's was fuller, rounder; you could see it through his jeans. Each cheek would probably fit perfectly in Harry's hand. Like... ripe cantaloupes. Juicy, ripe cantaloupes. The twins were slimmer, no longer scrawny but lean; their arses were high and flat. Harry imagined that they'd be freckled down there as well. A smattering of freckles across each cheek, and downy red hair down their arsecracks.  
  
Fuck. This could not be healthy.  
  
Fortunately, the Burrow during the Christmas holiday was a hive of cheerful industry, and Mrs Weasley had them all too busy stringing tinsel, making gingerbread men, and catching gnomes to Stupefy and hang from the tree for Harry's new fixation to become a full-blown obsession. It was only late at night, yanking his cock almost punishingly hard as Ron snored in the other bed, that Harry let himself think about men. Before that fateful day in Snape's office, Harry's fantasies had been as vague and fuzzy as the picture on an old television set with a broken antennae. Now there was an almost terrifying clarity to his desires.  
  
He wanted arse and cock and Malfoy's mouth on his prick again. And, fuck, he wanted Snape's eyes on him while he buggered Malfoy. He wanted to be the boy bent over the desk with his professor slamming into him from behind. He wanted... god, but he wanted... well, he bloody well wanted _men_ , was what. And he had no idea what that meant, but had a niggling feeling he wasn't going to like it when he found out.  
  
And what—Harry wondered furiously as he wrapped a garland around a broken grandfather clock—was he to Snape and Draco, anyway? Hell, what were Snape and Draco to each other?  
  
Harry's moody ruminations were interrupted by Charlie Weasley tapping him on the shoulder and asking for the tinsel. Harry jumped, nearly upending a dour-looking plastic Santa Claus that Mrs Weasley had banished to the back hallway after her excited husband had dragged it home.  
  
"Steady on," Charlie laughed, grabbing Harry's arm to steady him. "I'm not going to bite you, Harry."  
  
Harry was horrified to find himself wishing Charlie would, in fact, bite him. He was even more horrified to find that his entire arm was tingling with the sensation of being gripped in Charlie's strong hand, and when he realised that his eyes were straying towards the man's crotch, Harry knew that he was in serious trouble. Quickly, he wrenched his gaze, and his mind, away from Charlie's cock.  
  
"Here," he said abruptly, shoving the box of tinsel into Charlie's hands. "For you. It's tinsel. Like you wanted. Right. Okay. I'm going to, uh." He gestured vaguely towards a garland. "You know. Do this."  
  
Charlie's expression was somewhere between amusement and concern. "You're acting a bit strange, mate," he said. "Are you all right?"  
  
"Yes," Harry lied.  
  
After that, Harry holed himself up in Ron's room, trying to drive arse-related thoughts from his mind by studying his Quidditch encyclopedia religiously.  
  
There was a knock on the door and Ginny poked her head in before he even answered. "Harry, can we talk?"  
  
Harry sat bolt upright on the bed before realizing that it was only a girl, and Ginny at that. He relaxed. "Is this about Quidditch?" he asked.  
  
She frowned. "Not everything is about Quidditch, you know."  
  
Harry found himself rather wishing everything _was_ just about Quidditch. At least his life wouldn't be so bloody complicated then.  
  
"Go on, then," he said.  
  
She stepped inside, closing the door behind her. "What is with you any way? You've been... strange lately."  
  
Harry felt his face grow hot. "I don't know what you're talking about. Nothing wrong here. Everything perfectly normal. Really. Why, what have you heard?"  
  
Her ginger brows furrowed and she shook her head. "That," she said gesturing with a wave. "You're as jumpy as a garden Gnome."  
  
Harry sighed. Ginny was too damn perceptive by half.  
  
"I've been... confused," he said carefully. "About something... sort of... important. Something I've never thought about before. And now that I've started... thinking about it, it's, well, it's all I _can_ think about. D'you see what I mean?"  
  
She stepped closer, sitting on the edge of the bed. "Well, I might, if you told me what it was."  
  
"I can't!" Harry half-shouted. Then, forcing his tone to calm. "I can't. It's too complicated. And I don't—I don't know what it means. Any of it. And it sounds so bloody _stupid_ , doesn't it, to say that I've been feeling things I never have before, but it's true, isn't it, and I can't, I don't know how to bloody well deal with it all!"  
  
She smiled then, reaching to take his hand. "It's really all right, Harry. You can tell me. Anything."  
  
Harry had never held a girl's hand before. It was nice. Reassuring. Not all weird and confusing like when Bill's hand brushed his while passing over the bread basket, or Fred's hand clapping him on the back after a Quidditch practice in the garden, or Draco's hands, anywhere on him, ever.  
  
"Thanks," he said, honestly grateful. "I don't think you'll understand, but... thanks."  
  
"Oh, but I'm really here for you, Harry," Ginny said earnestly, giving his hand a squeeze. "Just tell me what it is."  
  
Harry bit his lip. "I... sort of like someone," he admitted. "Someone I'm not supposed to like."  
  
She smiled warmly. "Oh, who said you can't like... this person?"  
  
"Well, everyone! It would be... it would be unheard of, is what! And I'd catch no end of shite for it from Ron." Harry tried to imagine what Ron's expression would be if Harry told him about Snape and Draco. He shuddered, the outcome too awful to contemplate for long.  
  
She shook her head but her smile on widened. "You shouldn’t let what others think stop you if you really care."  
  
Harry remembered what he'd said to Draco— _Give me a reason to care_. "I do," he said, with a force that surprised him. "Fuck. I do, don't I? I bloody well care. Oh... _fuck_."  
  
Ginny brought her other hand up to his cheek. "It's okay, Harry, really it is."  
  
"It's just that I never know how to act," Harry went on, "or what to say, or do, or think. Everything always comes out wrong! And even if I did have the guts to do something about it, how would I know how to? I'd end up making an arse of myself."  
  
"Oh, Harry, I understand, really," Ginny said and then she leaned forward and pressed her lips to his.  
  
Harry froze, attempting to process the squishy, slightly moist mouth pressed against his own, tasting of strawberry lip-gloss and attached to Ginny Weasley. He had a vague feeling of predestination. _This_ was supposed to have been his first real kiss, a kiss with someone he cared about, someone he truly wanted to be with. Someone female. He should be feeling something, shouldn't he? Some spark? Some arousal? Anything?  
  
 _Oh, fuck it all,_ Harry thought. _I'm gay._  
  
At this point, Harry found it expedient to fall off the bed.  
  
He landed on his back on a stack of Quidditch magazines, dazed in equal parts by having the wind knocked out of him and by the sudden realization.  
  
"Sorry," he said, looking up at Ginny's confused expression. "It's not you."  
  
She turned red as her hair. "Oh, no!" she gasped, got to her feet and ran for the door. He could hear the sound of her footsteps racing down the stairs and out of the house.  
  
Harry closed his eyes and tried to imagine a world in which there could possibly be a good outcome for him in all this. Not finding any, he put his hands over his face and groaned.  
  
He could hear another set of feet pounding up the stairs then and Ron burst into the room. "What the bloody hell did you do?" he demanded.  
  
"Nothing," Harry replied truthfully, sitting up.  
  
Ron was red-faced. "My sister—my baby sister—just went running from this room and is crying in the garden. What did you do!"  
  
Harry snapped. "Nothing!" he shouted. "All right? I didn't do a damn _thing_ to her! Not that she didn't want me to–"  
  
He knew immediately that it was the wrong thing to say. Ron went purple and his chest swelled with rage.  
  
And then his friend launched himself at Harry, fist connecting with Harry's jaw.  
  
Harry was knocked backwards and landed arse-first on the pile of magazines he had recently vacated. "Ow," he said, feeling his jaw. "Ron, I think you've got the wrong idea."  
  
Ron looked ready to hit him again. "You're the one who bloody well has the wrong idea," he declared. Harry heard more feet on the stairs.  
  
The twins appeared in the doorway. "Oy!" Fred cried when he saw Harry's split lip and Ron's hand, still curled into a fist. "What's going on?"  
  
"He did something to Ginny!" Ron accused. "She's bloody-well crying!"  
  
"She tried to kiss me," Harry said loudly, seeing George's and Fred's expressions turn murderous. "I pulled away. She got, I dunno, offended or something. That fucking _hurt_ , you know," he added to Ron, wiping a trickle of blood from his chin.  
  
"She kissed you? You pushed her away?" Ron seemed both bewildered and equally confused by both statements.  
  
"Not because I don't like girls!" Harry assured him, perhaps a little too shrilly. "It's just, you know, your sister. Not that she isn't great! She is! She's very pretty, and one hell of a Quidditch player, but she's, you know. Your _sister_. It would be like kissing _my_ sister. It would be like—like kissing _you_." Ron turned puce. "All right, maybe not like kissing _you_ ," Harry amended, "because, well, we're blokes, so it would be... well... Look, I just don't want to snog your sister, all right?"  
  
"Sounds fine to me," George said cheerfully. "We'd rather you didn't snog our sister either, Harry, if it's all the same to you."  
  
Ron looked confused. "Um, yeah, not snogging... any of us," he agreed, cheeks red.  
  
"So basically you hauled off and hit your best friend for no good reason, Ron?" Fred said,, clapping Ron on the back. "Well done, little brother."  
  
"I had a reason," Ron objected.  
  
"Nice punch, though," George added.  
  
"Well, make sure it's not a daft one next time, all right?" Fred said.  
  
"I think an apology is in order," George prompted, elbowing Ron in the side.  
  
Ron frowned and looked chagrined. "Uh, sorry, I guess. Just, don't do it again?"  
  
"Don't do what, turn down your sister?" Harry asked in confusion. "Right, mate, next time I'll let her have her wicked way with me. Are you _mental_?"  
  
Ron's ears turned red at that and both twins laughed. "Forget it," he grumbled.  
  
"Want to give me a hand up?" Harry extended his own and waited.  
  
Ron got to his feet and helped Harry up.  
  
The rest of the holiday was not as eventful. Christmas and New Years' passed in a blur of tinsel, overeating, and inopportune hard-ons. Harry's disturbing new obsession with the male form didn't vanish overnight, as he had so fervently hoped it would, but something about collapsing into bed every night exhausted from the endless Weasley festivities and with his stomach feeling like an overstuffed sausage seemed to dampen his nocturnal fantasies somewhat, thank God.  
  
He and Ron tacitly agreed not to speak about what had happened with Ginny, and as for Ginny herself she had become as scarce as a garden Gnome who’d spied Mrs Weasley's bright green wellies stomping purposefully across the tomato patch. Harry had to admit, he was relieved.  
  
And then, before he knew it, Harry was waving goodbye to Ron's parents from the window of the Hogwarts Express, as the train pulled out of the station and drew him inexorably closer to Snape, Malfoy, and the thorniest dilemma Harry had ever found himself in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Really, Harry? Seriously, just enjoy it.]


	7. Kept Waiting

A strand of hair fell into Draco's face, the end tickling his nose. He absently tucked it back behind his ear, attention too focussed on the book propped against his knees to bother with it. He had found an unusual potions book tucked up on a top shelf in a back corner of his father's study and was now curled up on the leather sofa studying _Passion's Potions_.  
  
He'd been home for a week, and when not accompanied by his mother, he did his best to hide away from the traffic of Death Eaters who now came and went from the Manor as if it belonged to them instead of the Malfoy's.  
  
"I'd never had you pegged for the studious type, young Malfoy," came a reedy, nasal voice from above him.  
  
Draco actually read a lot, which showed how little Pettigrew or any of the others knew about him. He sighed, glancing only briefly up at the disgusting little man. "What do _you_ want?" he drawled.  
  
Pettigrew smirked, an untrustworthy little moue that made his watery, red-rimmed eyes pouch up unpleasantly. "My Lord requests the honour of your presence," he said sweetly. "He's been looking forward to it, in fact."  
  
Draco ground his teeth, doing his best not to show the shiver that went down his spine and the way it made him want to squirm. "Now?"  
  
"The Dark Lord doesn't like to be kept waiting."  
  
Draco closed the book with a snap and added it to the stack he had on the table, getting to his feet and smooth down his robes. "Which room?"  
  
The smirk widened into a gloating grin. "The drawing room, of course. Where else would the Master of Manor receive his guests?"  
  
Draco's hands clenched, wanting to pull his wand and hex the rat-faced fool. The very idea that anyone, Dark Lord or not, would ever be referred to as the Master of Malfoy Manor was insulting. He stomped out of the room, barely managing to catch himself when he got to the door of the Drawing Room. He took a couple of deep breaths before stepping into the room.  
  
He was met by a shriek of laughter, and his gaze was immediately drawn to the wraithlike figure of his Aunt Bella. Her wand was out and pointed at something on the floor. A mouse. It writhed under the Cruciatus, body contorted in a rictus of agony.  
  
The Dark Lord, reclining in Lucius Malfoy's favourite velvet armchair, watched Bellatrix torture the mouse with an expression of vague impassivity. He was as grotesque as Draco remembered, his skin mottled and pale, his eyes garnet slits in the smooth inhuman face.  
  
He turned to Draco. "It appears you have a vermin problem," Voldemort said lightly.  
  
Draco dropped his eyes, trying to look embarrassed to hide his thought, which was the Death Eaters—not the mouse—were the vermin in his home. A thought like that could get him killed. "I will punish the house-elves, my Lord."  
  
"Oh, I think Bellatrix can take care of that." Voldemort flicked his hand at the mouse, and it jerked once before going utterly still. "Punishment is an occupation to which she is uniquely suited. Do you not agree?"  
  
"Yes, she seems ... quite adept," Draco acknowledged. He held his hands behind his back, trying to not let fidgeting show his anger or fear.  
  
"Yes, I can count on Bellatrix," Voldemort said meaningfully. "The question I ask myself more and more, Draco, is whether I can count on you."  
  
Draco drew closer but still out of reach and sunk to one knee, eyes on the carpet. "I am working on the problem, Lord."  
  
"The problem?" Voldemort's lipless slash of a mouth seemed to widen horribly, and Draco realised that this was what the Dark Lord's smile was. "I have heard Albus Dumbledore referred to as many things. 'The problem' is a new sourbiquet. Fitting. He is certainly proving ... problematic. An obstacle, not insurmountable, but troublesome while it stands. Why does it still stand, Draco?"  
  
"Yes, my Lord, but I am sure I will find a way to ... remove the obstacle," he assured him, mouth almost too dry to speak as he promised away his future. He had a plan, but it was not certain by any measure. Nor, in truth, did he want to use it.  
  
"You are so sure of yourself, while I grow increasingly less sure of you." Voldemort's eyes were unblinking. "I do not want to be disappointed in you, Draco. Your father has already failed me. Don't make me regret the trust I placed in your line. It would be ... unfortunate for you."  
  
"I will do my best to please, sir," Draco assured him. His stomach rolled at the threat and hands twisted together painfully behind his back, trying to literally hold himself together.  
  
"Have you been doing your best to complete your mission over this term at Hogwarts?" Voldemort asked softly.  
  
Draco saw the trap in the question but didn't know how to answer. "The plan takes time, sir."  
  
Voldemort sighed, a sound like the wind through the branches of a dead tree. "If you have been doing your best to eliminate the problem, then you are a failure. If you have not been doing your best, then you are a traitor. What am I to think of you, then?" He tapped a skeletal finger against the arm of the chair, regarding Draco with narrowed eyes. "A traitor, a failure, or perhaps just a fool," he said finally, quietly. "Which one are you, Draco?"  
  
"None, sir," Draco said, the tremble certainly showing now. "Please, I need more time."  
  
"Time, time, time," Voldemort mimicked cruelly. "You speak as though it is an inexhaustible resource. A fool, indeed. Well, even fools can be useful. Can they not, Bellatrix?"  
  
Bellatrix giggled coquettishly. The crepe of her dress was so thin that her nipples were visible beneath the fabric, like two red ticks. "Yes, my Lord."  
  
"Another term then," Voldemort said. "A few more months, more precious _time_. But you will succeed in this, Draco. A fool may amuse me, but I do not tolerate failure in my ranks."  
  
"Thank you, sir," Draco managed, voice practically a whisper now.  
  
Voldemort waved a withered hand. "I have no more use for you," he said abruptly. Then, as Draco stood and turned to leave: "At least—not yet."  
  
Draco stumbled from the room, fleeing to his own room rather than the study and warding the door before collapsing into the bed to allow himself to break into the shakes he had been trying so desperately to control.  
  
***  
  
Harry had experienced an intense moment of clarity about the entire situation in the dining hall, during dinner the first night back. At the Slytherin table had been the maddeningly familiar slick of platinum hair, the sharp grey eyes and thin blue-veined hands. Malfoy's face glowered dolefully from the shadow cast by Crabbe and Goyle on either side. Slowly, Malfoy's tongue traced a wet path over his lips. Harry had then found it necessary to excuse himself to the lavatory, where he had a furious wank while wedged between sink and toilet. As he shot his load into a wad of paper towel, Harry reached the obvious and inevitable conclusion that keeping his hands off Draco Malfoy was a stupid endeavor, one fated to end in failure and blue balls. It didn't mean anything! He was just ... taking advantage of an opportunity, that was all. To, you know, get inside the mind of the enemy. It was all just part of his mission, really.  
  
However, the enemy had suddenly become mysteriously elusive. After coming to the rational and totally-not-gay-at-all conclusion that he was just going to have to keep on letting Draco Malfoy suck his cock, Harry had discreetly slipped a note into Draco's potions textbook when he wasn't looking. The note read: "Meet me at the astronomy tower at midnight. HP." After thinking about it, Harry added a hasty P.S.: "When you lick your lips, I think about what you did to me."  
  
Harry had waited at the astronomy tower for almost an hour, but Malfoy never showed. "Maybe the note fell out of his textbook and he never got it," Harry told himself as he crept back to the Gryffindor dormitory. Clearly more direct methods were needed. It wasn't easy to get Malfoy alone. He was usually flanked by Crabbe and Goyle or surrounded by Slytherin cronies, and after years of rivalry, it wasn't as though Harry could just go up to him in public and ask for a private chat. People would think he'd gone mental all over again. And whenever he did catch Malfoy without his entourage, the other boy would duck into a side corridor or disappear into a crowd of students. It was almost as though Malfoy were purposefully avoiding him.  
  
Finally, their second week back at school, Harry managed to corner Malfoy after Potions class. Something had gone wrong with one of Malfoy's potions; it had brimmed over the sides of his cauldron, leaving greasy stains on the countertop. He'd had to stay after class to clean it up. Harry had hung back, then when the room was empty but for the two of them, he approached Malfoy, who wasn't looking up. Malfoy was scrubbing the sticky substance with a look of disgust on his pointy face. When Harry tapped his shoulder, he jumped a mile.  
  
"Hi," Harry said, feeling like a twit. "Did you get my note?"  
  
Malfoy scowled at him. "What? No," he said, sounding annoyed and glancing around the room as if to see who was watching. Only he didn't look happy at all when he realised they were alone.  
  
"Well, I sent you one," Harry persisted. "Look, I'd like to see you."  
  
"I'm very busy, Potter," Malfoy snapped, backing up and accidentally getting the sleeve of his robe in the goo on the table.  
  
"Careful!" Harry pulled Malfoy away from the viscous substance, which had burned a hole in the sleeve of his robe.  
  
Malfoy yanked his arm away. "Look what you did," he accused.  
  
"What is your bloody _problem_?" Harry shouted. "A few weeks ago you were gobbling my prick down like a chocolate frog, and now you're acting like an utter arse!"  
  
"You're the arse," Malfoy yelled, as he turned bright red, grabbed up his bag and ran for it, leaving the mess and Harry behind. Harry was left in the empty classroom with an increasingly smelly puddle of goo, wondering what the fuck was going on.  
  
***  
  
Harry was not getting much sleep. Granted, he hadn't been getting much sleep before he'd done ... whatever he'd done with Snape and Malfoy, but then, at least, he'd been tormented only by stolen glimpses and vague imaginings. Now he was being tormented by actual memories, which was far worse, in as far as it made his dick much harder and his need much sharper and his dreams much, much more disturbing whenever his body did manage to shut down for a few hours.  
  
It wasn't the sex—well, fine, it was the sex, but it wasn't just the sex. If that had been sex. Harry still wasn't too sure. Was it still sex if your cock didn't get put in someone else's hole, or someone else's cock didn’t get put in your hole? _Busty and Bewitched_ was not clear on this.  
  
Anyway, it wasn't just the sex. It was everything outside of the sex. It was the fact that he hated Malfoy and Snape, the fact that they could be working for Voldemort, the fact that he'd come in a Slytherin's mouth, the fact that if Hermione found out she'd quote Freud at him until he smashed her head in with a textbook and the fact that if Ron found out he'd probably smash his own head in with a textbook. It was girls, and how Harry was realising that although they were, yes, good mates and excellent Quidditch players, and nice to look at when they didn't have their clothes on, the thought of dating a girl, of doing anything more serious than snogging a girl, seemed suddenly glaringly wrong. And realizing that boys, who'd always been good mates and excellent Quidditch players, also looked pretty fucking fantastic without their clothes on, and always had, and when had that happened?  
  
And while Harry couldn't see himself doing more than snogging a girl, in a vague and amorphous sort of way that made his dick twitch a little but not do much else, thinking of shagging a boy made him hard as a rock. And thinking of shagging Malfoy very damn well near made him come in his pants.  
  
But there were more important things than girls and boys, like Voldemort, and war, and choosing sides and lines in the sand and having to know, really know, who was friend and who was enemy. Because there wasn't any in-between, not anymore. Not even for cocksucking with potions teachers and people you were supposed to hate. It was about right and wrong.  
  
It came down to this: Harry did not know what Snape and Malfoy were. And that was dangerous. In a war, you didn't sleep in your foxhole without knowing that the blokes in the foxhole next door were on your side. In a war, you didn't sleep with people from another House unless you knew that they didn't have a secret list under their pillows entitled “Mudbloods Who Will Be First Against the Wall When the Death Eater Revolution Comes” and a Dark Mark lurking under their robes. Fuck inter-House unity. How could you be united with people who wanted to murder your friends? No, inter-House mutual suspicion was what was called for. And Harry hadn't been suspicious enough.  
  
He needed to know. Before anything else, before he even began to let himself assess what the bloody hell to do with all this damned unwanted self-knowledge he'd been saddled with, he needed to know.  
  
And for that, he needed the Map.


	8. Unlocking Secrets

Empty, Snape's office felt like a tomb, every dusty book and bottle on its shelves small, inert corpses. If Harry concentrated, he could almost smell the bitter tang of semen in the air—or was that a strange sort of powdered root, or even more simply, his imagination?  
  
Harry shook himself. This was not the time to think of semen, or everything it entailed. He had a mission. He needed proof. Some tangible anchor of objective fact in a world suddenly gone mad. Not, of course, that he knew what he was looking for, exactly—Death Eater calling cards? A Voldemort colouring book? A dartboard with Dumbledore's picture pinned to it? But he could at least recognize Dark artifacts, thanks to Mad-Eye Moody, and anything beyond that he'd leave to instinct. It had served him well enough in the past, after all.  
  
Harry searched the desk first. It was too obvious of a location to hide anything important, but Snape might have gotten careless, you never knew. The drawers were locked, but yielded to his _Alohomora_. Unsurprisingly, Snape was as fastidious about his desk as he was careless of his personal hygiene. Unused parchment was stacked neatly in one drawer, along with fresh quills and bottles of ink; in another lay student essays. Harry couldn't resist having a quick glance through these, and rolled his eyes upon finding most of them were graded 'P' or 'T'. Typical.  
  
Harry thumped on the bottom of the drawers to check for false bottoms and cast a few Revealment Charms, but the desk appeared to be exactly what it looked like: a desk.  
  
Harry locked the drawers again and turned his attention to the supply closet. Its lock, however, would not open to simple spell. Harry tried a few more advanced charms, but the door remained obstinately shut. Damn! If only he had some hairpins. Not that he would know what to do with them, but Muggle spy movies always made it look so easy.  
  
Still, the closet's refusal to yield to elementary magics could very well be a clue in and of itself. After all, who would put such a complex lock on a door unless they had something to hide?  
  
Harry pulled a piece of scrap parchment from his pocket and scrounged around in Snape's desk for a quill and ink. At the top of the paper he wrote two headings: "Good Guys" and "Death Eaters." Under the "Death Eaters" heading he put a mark. After thinking for a moment he put a mark under "Good Guys" as well; after all, the desk had been perfectly innocuous.  
  
The shelves behind the desk earned the "Good Guys" column another mark. All the books were Hogwarts approved textbooks, and the suspicious-looking hairy stone Snape was using as a paperweight proved to be nothing more than a bezoar.  
  
Harry hadn't noticed the cabinet in the corner, but once he did he wondered how he ever could have missed it. The thing was massive, hewn of some dark unpolished wood that looked like solid shadow. A rather crude Slytherin crest was carved into the door, adjacent to a tarnished brass lock.  
  
Harry had never seen a more imposing piece of furniture. It certainly looked as though it contained Dark artifacts of malicious intent and devious purpose. Perhaps this was were Snape hung his Death Eater robes and mask, or maybe an ornate antique mirror that allowed him to communicate directly with Voldemort.  
  
Unsurprisingly, this lock didn't open for any of the charms Harry tried, even the one with the impressively complicated wand gesture at the end that had a tendency to blow things up if you bollocksed it. The cabinet did not blow up, and it did not budge. Harry had to fight the urge to stamp his foot in frustration. Damn Snape and his carefully defended privacy! Even when he wasn't around to sneer at Harry in person, his fucking furniture managed to make Harry feel like an idiot. The lock was like a taunting eye. Defiantly, Harry poked it.  
  
Immediately upon his touch, the lock seemed to grow brighter, metal gleaming underneath the tarnish. There were a series of muted clicks, and the door swung open.  
  
When Harry saw what was inside, he gave a loud, undignified squawk and stumbled backwards until his arse hit the desk.  
  
Fucking hell! It was like a torturer's wet dream, brimming with whips and crops and paddles and shiny metal clamps and other objects less easily defined but whose purpose was not difficult to guess at.  
  
Harry remembered Draco's arse the first time he'd seen Snape buggering it—flaming red and purpling with the bruised imprint of whatever Snape had used to spank him with. A paddle, probably. So this was, what, Snape's secret stash of kinky toys that he used on Malfoy? It had to be. Harry couldn't see Voldemort having any use for nipple clamps, not to mention a ten-inch dildo. At least, not any use that Harry was willing to contemplate.  
  
Harry began to put a mark under the "Good Guys" head, then changed his mind. He outlined a new column labelled "Kinky Bastards" and put a very large, emphatic X.  
  
Still, you never knew—Snape could have hidden Death Eater secrets beneath all the toys, figuring nobody would ever be depraved or determined enough to look. He really should have a quick rifle through, shouldn't he? For the sake of thoroughness.  
  
Harry squared his shoulders. For the sake of goodness and the freedom of the wizarding world, he reminded himself. He took a deep breath and delved his hand into the cabinet.  
  
The leather was cool and smooth as it kissed his skin. The flails of a cat o' nine tails brushed over his wrist in a strangely sensual caress, raising the hairs on his arm. His fingers met the cold surface of a pair of manacles. Without thinking, Harry tried to push his hand through one of the cuffs. Just to see if it would fit. No, it would have to be unlocked and then snapped around his wrist. Harry imagined what it would sound like, the dull click of tumblers as metal encircled his wrists, binding him, rendering him helpless. The thought sent a rush of blood to his cock, and he pulled his hand away from the manacles quickly.  
  
A glint of something half-obscured by a wooden paddle caught Harry's eye. He pushed away the paddle to reveal a bowl of something on the top shelf, giving off its own small silvery glow.  
  
"Accio bowl," Harry said. He caught it as it flew into his arms. The mercury-like stuff inside rippled, but didn't spill as a normal liquid would. A Pensieve?  
  
Without giving himself time to think, Harry set it onto the desk and plunged his head into the bowl.  
  
There was a rush of vertigo, and Harry fell headlong into the memory.  
  
He was in a classroom, one of the largely unused ones in the dungeon, going by the damp stone walls and lack of windows. A few dusty desks and chairs were crowded into the corner, and in the center of the room was a large desk. On the desk was Draco Malfoy.  
  
A dark-haired boy who Harry vaguely remembered from the Syltherin Quidditch team was leaning over Draco. He had Draco's mouth trapped in a messy kiss that seemed to be swallowing the lower half of the blond boy's face, and beefy calloused fingers were fumbling to open the buttons of Draco's shirt. This had to be a memory from before this summer—Draco's growth spurt had yet to happen, and he looked strangely childlike under the dark haired boy's massive hands and broad, built frame.  
  
Draco was squirming, arching up into the boy atop of him. When there was a break in the kiss, he gasped, "Adrian."  
  
Adrian humped against Draco's thigh, sucking at his pale neck hard enough to leave bruises. He plucked at Draco's hard little nipples, twisting and crushing them between his fingers as his other hand roamed between Draco’s legs.  
  
Draco moaned, thrashing under the onslaught and spreading his legs wider. His squirming seemed to awaken something in Adrian. He bore down on top of the smaller boy, grabbing his wrists and pulling them over his head to pin him to the desk.  
  
"Yes, like that," Draco gasped. "Tie my hands!"  
  
Adrian grunted in surprise. A broad grin broke over his face. "You like that?" he growled, tightening his grip on Draco's wrists. "Like me holding you down? Like being helpless under me, you little cock-sucking slut?"  
  
Harry felt his pulse quicken. He hadn't even realised that his cock had grown hard, thickening into a hot wet need that pushed against his pants and begged for attention. When Adrian yanked off Draco's school tie and wrapped it around his trapped wrists, Harry almost came. Seeing Draco crushed beneath that powerful body, pretending to struggle as his wrists were bound over his head and he was rendered helpless, stole Harry's breath.  
  
Draco made a needy little whining sound as he tugged on the tie and his body quivered, looking up at Adrian with lust-darkened eyes.  
  
"I'm going to fuck you, Draco Malfoy," Adrian said. "And there's not a thing you can do about it."  
  
"Then you'd better get my clothes off," Draco groaned.  
  
Adrian responded by reaching down and ripping off Draco's shorts and trousers. His slender cock lay flushed and full against his belly. Adrian spat in his palm before dragging it roughly over Draco's prick.  
  
Harry's hips bucked unconsciously as Draco's moan was swallowed by another crushing kiss. Fuck, but he was hard.  
  
Draco was tied to the top of a desk, legs dangling off the sides. He drew them up, bending his knees and bracing his feet against the surface. Adrian rubbed a finger against Draco's lips and the blond sucked it in obediently, moistening it with his tongue. When the digit was judged to be wet enough Adrian pulled it from Draco's mouth with a pop. He pressed the saliva-slick fingertip to Draco's twitching hole, circling it before pushing inside.  
  
"Mmm, yes," Draco encouraged, feet nearly slipping off the edge of the desk in his attempt to spread them wider. Adrian prepared Draco efficiently (and rather disinterestedly, Harry thought), opening his hole with one finger, then two.  
  
Draco was panting, face flushed and blond lashes fluttering. His own cock twitched repeatedly, fluid leaking in a long sticky drip from the tip. Adrian unbuttoned his trousers and pressed the tip of his cock to Draco's hole, shoving it home without patience or finesse.  
  
Malfoy gasped, arse lifting off the desk with the thrust and lean muscled legs shaking. "Fuck!"  
  
Adrian began to thrust, hips pumping like a piston, balls slapping wetly against Draco's crack. He held Draco's wrists down with one hand as he fucked him, the other wrapping around the blond boy's cock to pull him off.  
  
Harry felt his hips begin to pump shallowly in time with Adrian's and forced himself to still. He was conducting an investigation, not watching porn. But why would Snape have this memory stored in his office, anyway? Did Draco give it to him? Did he take it? Did he jerk off to it? Harry imagined Snape fisting his cock while he watched his lover get fucked by another boy and groaned as all the blood rushed from his head into his overheated cock.  
  
Draco's moans grew louder as he lifted his hips, toes curled around the edge of the desk as he lifted up to meet those thrusts. With a grunt, Adrian buried himself to the hilt and shuddered out his orgasm, grinding his pelvis against Draco's arse as he spent the last of his climax inside of him.  
  
Adrian pulled out, leaving Draco's hole gaping and dribbling come. He wiped his soiled dick on Draco's discarded underwear before tucking it back into his trousers.  
  
"Wait!" Draco pushed himself up on his elbows. "Why the fuck did you stop?"  
  
Adrian shrugged, buttoning up his shirt. "I came. You're a big boy, you can finish yourself off. If you want I can slap you around a little, since you're obviously into that shit, but otherwise I'm done here."  
  
Draco yanked on the tie. "You bastard! How dare you!"  
  
"Well, well, well," drawled a dry and all too familiar voice from the doorway. "What have we here?"  
  
Draco's eyes widened in an expression of horrified shock and he struggled to pull his hands out of the binding, closing his legs quickly.  
  
Adrian, on the other hand, seemed unfazed by the appearance of his Head of House. "Just finishing up, Professor," he said smoothly, straightening his tie. "Something you wanted?"  
  
Snape raised his eyebrows, glancing from Draco to Adrian. "I was merely performing a curfew check, Mister Pucey. While I sympathise with what a bother it must be to bring a watch to your assignations, you may wish to forbear the annoyance next time to avoid future detentions."  
  
Harry grinned at the look on Adrian's face.  
  
"Detention?" Adrian half-shouted. "But it's summer hols in two weeks! Nobody's giving detention anymore!"  
  
"Fuck the detention! Untie me!" Draco screamed at him.  
  
Snape held up a hand to silence Draco's cry of outrage. "I suggest you hurry back to your dormitory, Mister Pucey, lest I temporarily forget that you are in my house and detract fifty points from Slytherin for assaulting a classmate."  
  
"Oh, he wanted to be assaulted," Adrian said with a leer at Draco. "He was begging for it, in fact."  
  
"I swear, I will _kill_ you!" Draco screamed.  
  
"Back to your dormitory, Mister Pucey!" Snape ordered, eyes cold and furious.  
  
"You know, Draco, I was planning on making you beg to be untied," Adrian said, a malicious grin breaking over his face, "but I think leaving you here for him to untie is even better. Drop me a line next time you need it rough, yeah?" With that, Adrian elbowed past Snape and was gone.  
  
Draco was pulling so hard on the tie that his wrists were red and it looked like he might injure himself. He growled and let his head fall back with a thunk, closing his eyes and cheeks red.  
  
"Would you care to explain what you were doing with Adrian Pucey, a living argument for the existence of a missing link?" Snape asked, leaning against the wall and crossing his arms.  
  
"No, I don't. I don't ever want to even see him again, let alone talk about it," Draco insisted, clearly mortified. "Please, untie me?"  
  
Snape flicked his wand, and the restraints disappeared. "I suppose a lecture on your conduct would be wasted," Snape remarked.  
  
Draco scrambled off the desk, standing on the other side, probably to hide himself. He rubbed his wrists, the skin pink from being abraded.  
  
"But I would be remiss if I didn't tell you, as both an elder and a friend of your father, that you have absolutely disastrous taste in men. What were you thinking, Draco?"  
  
Though his cock was no longer hard, Draco was still flushed and Harry could see a rivulet of come dripping down the inside of his thigh. Draco searched around, found his clothing and began to sort them out. "I ... I thought he would give me what I ..." He bit his lip rather than finish, glancing nervously at Snape.  
  
"I'm thirty six years old, Draco," Snape said sardonically. "Very little shocks me anymore. You thought he could give you ...? Love? Attention?"  
  
Draco had found his wand by then and cast a Cleaning Charm on himself, before pulling on his underpants and then trousers. "No, Pucey's too stupid for that."  
  
"What then?"  
  
Draco's face turned pink again and he mumbled something as the looked down, buttoning up his robes.  
  
"Speak up," Snape prompted.  
  
"I think you could see enough," Draco insisted, not meeting the older man's eyes.  
  
"Are you referring to the fact that he had your hands tied?" Snape queried. His eyes were oddly bright, and he licked his lips, looking almost nervous. "Do you ... is it sexually satisfying for you? To be bound? I ask only so I can tailor my advice to your particular situation, of course," he added hastily.  
  
"I didn't ask advice," Draco challenged, trembling and his face so flushed now his ears were pink too.  
  
"But clearly you need it, if you managed to get yourself into a situation like this," Snape said scornfully. "Listen to me, Draco. There are men who will give you ... what you wanted Adrian to give you, who are also not Trolls. You are an intelligent, competent, and attractive young man. You don't need to settle for a chest-beating brute."  
  
Draco had managed to dress himself and ran a hand back through his hair. "Not a lot of choices here," he answered, stepping up to face Snape and then looking him in the eyes. "Are there?"  
  
"Perhaps you're simply looking in the wrong places," Snape answered levelly.  
  
Draco lifted his chin defiantly. "You are full of advice, but do you have someone in mind?"  
  
Snape gave him a hard look. "I'm a professor, not a matchmaker to oversexed adolescent boys. Speaking of which, have you told your father?"  
  
Draco's eyes narrowed immediately, hands clenching to fists. "I'm not stupid," he hissed.  
  
"Despite all evidence to the contrary," Snape snorted. "I'm glad to hear it. Lucius would be ... less than understanding. Now, I really must insist that you return to your dormitory, Mister Malfoy. It's nigh on midnight, and Filch is far less merciful on curfew-breakers than I."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Not sure who the naughtiest one is here. Harry for spying, or Draco for... well, you know.]


	9. Caught

The scene seemed to shiver, as if seen through a thin layer of heat vapor. The classroom, along with Draco and Snape, dissolved, colours sliding gelatinously and shapes rearranging themselves like wet paint on a canvas. Harry found himself standing in another room, this one cavernous and grand, with swirling tufts of cloud moving across the vaulted ceiling and mail-bearing owls swooping above long trestle tables that brimmed with students. Harry recognised it immediately as the Great Hall.  
  
Harry was standing beside the Slytherin table. Draco was sitting between Crabbe and Goyle, his skin paler than ever and his shoulder's slumped. He was glancing fretfully up at the ceiling and then staring down at this plate without eating.  
  
Harry was wondering why this memory when the owls came flapping into the hall, carrying the morning mail. When Harry looked toward the Gryffindor table, he saw that neither he, nor Ron and Hermione, were there. But his attention as drawn back to the Slytherin table by a loud gasp and then others echoing it.  
  
Draco was holding the _Daily Prophet_ and his hands were clenched into the paper, looking like he might rip it apart at any minute. Then, as the room began to fill with more gasps and muttering, he threw it down and bolted from the room. The headline of the paper was "Voldemort Returns. Battle at the Ministry."  
  
Harry remembered that article. It had reported on Lucius Malfoy's arrest as well. The room revolved dizzily and suddenly he was in the girl's loo where Moaning Myrtle usually lurked. There was Draco, huddled in one of the stalls, arms about his knees—crying.  
  
Harry had never pictured Malfoy crying before. He had known Malfoy was angry after his father was arrested. Malfoy had certainly made that clear when he had caught Harry spying on him on the Hogwart's Express. Just then it occurred to Harry that this couldn't have been Snape's memory at all. He hadn't been in the Great Hall then, nor was he in the bathroom. Only Draco.  
  
Harry heard the door open. He turned to see Snape standing in the doorway.  
  
"Draco?" Snape said softly, closing the door behind him. "I see that you heard. I'm more sorry than I can say that the news of your father's arrest came to you second-hand. I had wanted to be the one who told you, but the situation is ... rather unstable. I couldn't get away."  
  
Draco stiffened, and then slowly raised his face, tear-streaked and blotchy. "Why? Why is this happening?"  
  
Snape's face seemed to contort, his dark eyes filling with an emotion Harry couldn't name. "Oh, Draco ..." He came to crouch beside the weeping boy. "You knew what Lucius was involved in, didn't you? You knew to whom he had pledged his service, and the risks it entailed."  
  
Draco's bottom lip quivered and his eyes were pleading. "B-but he ... he said ... "  
  
"What did he say?" Snape said gently, stroking a tear-soaked strand of hair off of Draco's cheek.  
  
Draco dropped his face into his own hands, shaking with a now silent sob and mumbling.  
  
"Don't work yourself into a state," Snape chastised, pulling Draco's hands away from his face and cupping them in his own. "Goodness, your hands are freezing. Didn't your mother ever tell you to wear gloves when climbing around in drafty old castles?"  
  
"Is it true? Is he really in ... is he really ...?" Draco pleaded, so clearly wanting Snape to tell him it was all a lie, that the _Prophet_ was wrong.  
  
"Lucius Malfoy is in Ministry custody and will await trial in Azkaban," Snape admitted.  
  
Draco shuddered again. "He didn't have a choice," he pleaded, as if needing Snape or someone to believe him. "He had to do it."  
  
"He always had a choice, Draco," Snape said, squeezing his hands to emphasize the point. "Lucius was not under Imperius. He acted by his own free will. He's a grown man, and among the cleverest I have ever known; he knew exactly what he was doing, and did so knowing the potential consequences of his actions. Never absolve anyone of their sins merely out of love, Draco. It's a dangerous habit to get into."  
  
"Could he quit? Could he just tell ... HIM ... no?" Draco asked.  
  
"No. but there are other ways of walking away from the Dark Lord."  
  
"You don't."  
  
"I have chosen a different path than Lucius," Snape said carefully. "The situation is more complicated than you realise, Draco. Dumbledore has always been mistaken in believing that there is no simple dichotomy of good and evil. There is a good deal of grey for a man to operate within."  
  
Harry frowned, trying to unravel the meaning from Snape's words. It sounded as though he were speaking in code, trying to transmit some important message in the most roundabout way possible. What did he mean by talking about walking away from Voldemort? Which damn column was Harry supposed to mark here?  
  
Draco didn't look like he understood, but he had stopped crying. Snape reached a hand out and he took it, hauled to his feet by the older man. "Thank you," Draco whispered looking embarrassed.  
  
Harry was sure that in anyone else the slight quirking up of the corners of the mouth and the minute flicker of warmth in the eyes that passed briefly over Snape's pallid visage would have been a smile. "You know, Mister Malfoy," Snape said, "that if you are ever in need ... Well, I assume you would be competent enough to find my office, should the occasion arise."  
  
Draco flushed but nodded, looking shyly pleased as he was led out of the bathroom.  
  
When the scene began to shimmer and rearrange itself, Harry was ready for it. He closed his eyes tightly, ignoring the roil of vertigo in the pit of his stomach. He didn't open them again until colours stopped swirling on the backs of his eyelids—and immediately wished he hadn't.  
  
He was standing in the Hogwart's dungeon corridor, not far from Snape's office. And when his eyes adjusted he realised he was looking into an alcove where, to his shock, Anthony Goldstein, head thrown back against the brick wall and his mouth open. He gave a shudder and gasp and Harry's gaze shifted down, seeing that familiar white blond head bobbing over the other boy's groin. The sucking noises seemed to fill the corridor, punctuated by Goldstein's grunts and moans.  
  
Harry felt his own cock twitch in envied appreciation and he could himself unconsciously moving to get a better view. A view of Malfoy's lips wrapped around the other boy's prick, cheeks hollowed and face glistening with sweat as he worked up and down the wet shaft.  
  
Anthony's face was as open and easily read as a book. He gasped, moaned, chewed his lips, puffed up his cheeks, squeezed his eyes shut and opened them again, flared his nostrils, and furrowed his brow; his face practically rippled with emotion, and every contortion spoke of an epic orgasm nearing with all the subtlety of a speeding train. Finally he seemed unable to bear the strain of it any longer and, knotting his fingers in Draco's pale hair, Anthony ground the other boy's face into his crotch and came with a loud cry hastily muffled into his shoulder.  
  
Malfoy's thin fingers curled around Goldstein's hips, holding him in place as he swallowed, eyes closed in concentration. Harry remembered what those lips felt like on his own prick and ached, quite literally at the moment, to trade places with Goldstein.  
  
This time, Harry saw Snape before Malfoy. The Potions professor emerged from the corridor, looking equal parts enraged and resigned as he watched Malfoy lick a last spurt of come from Anthony's slit.  
  
"If you're quite finished," Snape said pointedly.  
  
Goldstein squeaked, looking like he would have heart failure on the spot. He quickly fumbled to put his prick away. Malfoy showed no such qualms, sitting back on his heels and licking his lips as he looked up at the professor.  
  
"Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck," Anthony groaned, sagging against the wall and burying his flaming face in his hands. "You're going to tell Professor Flitwick, aren't you? I am bollocksed. I am so, so bollocksed."  
  
Snape ignored him, looking straight at Draco. "Care to explain yourself, Mister Malfoy?"  
  
Harry watched as Draco arched one blond eyebrow. "I wanted a snack?"  
  
"He said that he wanted help with his Tranfiguration homework!" Anthony shrilled. "Then he—he jumped me! I tried to tell him no—he wouldn't listen!"  
  
Even if Anthony hadn't been the worst liar in the world, Harry still would have known his story for bullshit. Draco wouldn't ask for help even if his head were on fire. Apparently Snape's thoughts were similar, because he gave a disbelieving snort.  
  
"Mister Goldstein, you outweigh Mister Malfoy by at least twenty pounds. Even in the highly improbable eventuality that he physically overpowered you and took your wand, I doubt that forcible oral sex would have been his intention."  
  
Malfoy was grinning, still on his knees, watching the sputtering Ravenclaw.  
  
"Oh, don't work yourself up into a state, Mister Goldstein," Snape snapped when Anthony burst into tears. "There's nothing more pathetic than a blubbering Ravenclaw. Take a detention with Filch for skipping class for no good reason—and no, Mister Malfoy, I do not consider hallway rendezvous 'good reason'—and try to be more responsible next time."  
  
"Yes, sir!" Anthony sniffed, backing away quickly. "Thank you, sir!" The moment he'd rounded the corner, Harry heard him break into a run.  
  
Malfoy was laughing.  
  
"Find this funny, do you, Malfoy?" Snape said coldly.  
  
Harry watched as the blond tried to stop smiling but it only turned into a smirk.  
  
"Shouldn't I?" Malfoy challenged.  
  
Snape's mouth tightened. "You certainly weren't laughing when the last miscreant you allowed use of your body pulled rather a similar maneuver. The adage 'once burned, twice shy' obviously does not apply to the terminally stupid."  
  
Malfoy shrugged, getting to his feet. He cocked his head, one hand on his hip. "Maybe I just need the right man," he drawled.  
  
"Looking for Mister Right, or rather giving potential candidates blowjobs in little used corridors, is not a valid excuse for skipping class," Snape retorted.  
  
"Can't think of a better reason," Malfoy answered.  
  
Snape's eyes flashed with fury, but he kept his voice cold. "What shall I do with you, Mister Malfoy?" he mused. "Detention obviously means nothing to you, and I am loathe to punish all of Slytherin for your idiocy by detracting House points. What will have enough of an impact, I wonder?"  
  
Snape's eyes flashed with fury. Without another word, he reached out and took firm hold of Draco by the ear. Harry felt himself being pulled along as Snape dragged a protesting Draco after him, down a little-used set of back stairs and into the dungeon.  
  
"What?" Malfoy exclaimed, reaching to wrap a hand around Snape's wrist, apparently trying to ease the pain of being yanked along by his ear.  
  
"Your attitude leaves much to be desired, Mister Malfoy," Snape snarled, yanking Draco through the door to his office. "In my experience, there is only one surefire method of curing recalcitrance in the teenaged boy, and I believe you are in dire need of it."  
  
Malfoy actually looked nervous, but his cheeks were also flushed and he was probably just as excited. "What are you going to do to me?”  
  
"Give you what you need," Snape replied. He released his grip on Draco's ear. Before Draco could catch his balance, however, Snape shoved him towards his desk.  
  
"I don't suppose that your father took responsibility for this aspect of your education," Snape went on. He took Malfoy by the collar with one hand and pulled over his chair with another. "It was a neglect, wasn't it?" In one fluid motion Snape sat, simultaneously hauling Draco over his lap, arse up.  
  
Malfoy didn't answer the question, but yelped. Harry noticed he didn't fight the move at all, only bracing himself, feet planted on the floor and hands scrambling to hold the legs of the chair.  
  
"You know that you deserve this, don't you?" Snape said, running a proprietary hand over Draco's upraised rump. It wasn't a sexual gesture; Snape's expression was calculating, as though already measuring in his mind the number of blows the flesh could take. Harry felt his mouth go dry.  
  
"Yes," Malfoy gasped, wriggling his arse.  
  
"Get your hips up so I can take off your trousers," Snape ordered.  
  
Malfoy arched up, trembling while Snape deftly stripped Malfoy of his trousers, exposing his goosepimpling thighs and his underpants strangely virginal-looking in their well-washed whiteness. Snape didn't hesitate before yanking these down as well.  
  
Malfoy whimpered, the sound going right to Harry's prick.  
  
"I am going to give you five swats for missing class," Snape said evenly, hand resting on the small of Draco's back. "Five for the reason why you missed class. And five for cheek. Do you understand?"  
  
"Y-yes, Sir," Malfoy managed.  
  
The first blow landed on Malfoy's right cheek, making the flesh ripple and redden. Malfoy's eyes closed and his hands tightened on the legs of the chair. Yet, he didn't flinch away. Instead, he spread his legs a little wider.  
  
Harry's mouth went dry. When Snape's hand fell again, this time across Draco's left buttock, the blood drained from Harry's head and went rushing into his cock.  
  
"Oh, oh," Malfoy gasped again, wiggling his arse.  
  
Snape continued to alternate cheeks, striking one, then the other. His blows were measured, with slight pauses that gave Draco time to ready himself for the next smack. The office echoed with the sound of hand against bruising skin. If Harry had any physical presence he had no doubt that his moist groans and panting would have made the musty air around him as humid as a tropical rainforest. He was pulling on his cock, not even remembering unzipping or shoving his trousers to mid-thigh, thanking every kind force in the universe that this time, at least, Snape wouldn't catch him at it.  
  
Malfoy was rocking into Snape's lap with each blow, moaning and shuddering.  
  
"You know, Mister Malfoy, I actually felt sympathy for you last time. I thought that you were merely a confused young boy who had made a terrible mistake in getting involved with an oaf—a mistake he would learn from, an oaf that would hopefully teach him to avoid oafs. Now, I see that my sympathies were misplaced. You continue to squander yourself on the undeserving. It would be pathetic, if it weren't so damned annoying."  
  
The professor paused in his blows and Harry could see that Malfoy was rutting against Snape's leg and the moans didn't stop with the blows.  
  
"Why, Mister Malfoy," Snape said drily after the seventh or eighth blow. "Are you enjoying this?"  
  
Malfoy's face was shining with sweat and he licked his lips. "Yes, Sir!"  
  
Snape shifted his thigh deliberately beneath Draco and the boy moaned. Harry imagined the feel of Snape's lap against his own erection while the man dealt crushing blows to his arse and moaned as well.  
  
"Oh, oh, fuck yes!" Malfoy shouted, shuddering violently, so clearly in the throws of orgasm that Harry couldn't take his eyes of the other boy as he tugged his own cock harder and faster, until Harry was coming moments after Malfoy.  
  
"You filthy boy." Snape dealt the last blow right over Draco's crack.  
  
Sweat was dripping now from the end of Malfoy's pointy nose and he closed his eyes, sagging over Snape's lap now.  
  
Abruptly, Snape pushed Draco off his lap. The blond boy landed on the floor in an undignified sprawl, trouses and underwear around his ankles. Harry saw the wet patch on Snape's lap where Draco had ejaculated, and the pronounced tent in the Snape's own trousers.  
  
He saw Malfoy's eyes take that in as well, and a smile curl the blond's mouth. "I can help with that ... Sir," Malfoy said, getting up on his knees with a wince and reaching a hand toward Snape's erection.  
  
"Didn't you just learn a lesson on the perils of impertinence?" Snape snapped, slapping his hand away. He stood, smoothing the front of his robes over his straining erection. "You are dismissed, Mister Malfoy," Snape said coldly.  
  
Malfoy's mouth dropped open, clearly not expecting that. "But I thought ..."  
  
"You thought?" Snape sneered. "Then your punishment was successful. Hopefully you'll continue to think, preferably along the lines of the consequences of your actions. Now pull your pants up, Mister Malfoy, you look ridiculous."  
  
Malfoy flushed and did look quite unhappy. He tried to stand up too quickly and fell again, probably bruising his knees if his yelp of pain was anything to go by. His yanked his pants and trousers up his pale legs and his fingers shook as he tried to fasten them.  
  
Draco hesitated, looking uncertain. "You may go, Mister Malfoy," Snape said pointedly.  
  
"What the fuck?" Harry heard but it wasn't from either of the two in the scene. A hand landed on his shoulder, gripping him painfully and pulling him. The mist of the penseive cleared and he found himself face to face with Snape and Malfoy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Uh, oh, Harry's been caught "red-handed."]


	10. Mutual Benefit

Snape's sallow face was drawn with fury. Harry had never seen the man look so angry. Harry took a step back, forgetting that his trousers were around his knees, and went sprawling.  
  
"Something you needed, Potter?" Snape said between clenched teeth. He had snatched up the Penseive, and the silvery reflection made his face look ghoulish.  
  
Malfoy looked torn between confusion and laughing at Harry's predicament. "Potter, with his pants down? What perverted things are you doing in Professor Snape's office?"  
  
"Fuck you, Malfoy!" Harry mumbled, cheeks burning. He yanked his pants back up, wincing to see the drying crust of cum across the front. _Oh, God, could this situation get any worse?_  
  
Snape released Harry's shoulder but was glowering at him. "You never have known when to keep your nose out of other people's business, Potter," he snarled, drawing his wand.  
  
Apparently it could get worse, and with alacrity. Harry scrambled backwards, fumbling in his robe for his own wand.  
  
"Don't move, Potter," Snape insisted. "I will deal with you shortly."  
  
Malfoy had been grinning, clearly enjoying Harry's embarrassment. His eyes widened in surprise when Snape turned to him. "I need to return these to Mr Malfoy."  
  
Harry frowned, utterly confused. Of course, if those were Malfoy's memories in the Penseive he wouldn't remember them, but what had been the point of removing them in the first place? Could Harry's suspicions about the man have been correct?  
  
Malfoy's expression was confused and wary, but Snape grabbed him by the arm and then dipped the tip of his wand into the silvery liquid, withdrawing a strand and pressing it to Draco's temple.  
  
Harry's eyes widened. He drew his wand, wanting it at the ready in case Snape ... well, did something Death Eater-ish.  
  
"Put that away, Potter," Snape snapped without even turning around. The memory strand disappeared into Malfoy's head and his eyes widened, cheeks reddening. He looked nervously between Harry and Snape, who pulled another stand from the Pensieve.  
  
Harry frowned, but did as Snape ordered. It didn't seem as though he was hurting Draco. Still, he kept his hand close to his wand just in case.  
  
Each memory seemed to cause a fresh wave of shock and embarrassment to Malfoy's face. Given the ones Harry had seen, he could imagine what it would be like to get those back, let alone know that someone else had been watching them. Snape finished and stepped back, hand still on Malfoy's arm, seeming to be steadying the shocked blond.  
  
"Are you all right?" Snape asked in a low voice.  
  
"Professir ... Severus," Malfoy corrected himself, eyes having a different look to them now when he looked at their professor. One pale hand rose to his throat, as if to touch the collar he usually wore but which Harry could see was now missing. Then Malfoy glanced at Harry and the colour in his cheeks spread to his ears. Apparently, the returned memories included the one where Harry had joined in with them.  
  
"Uh, hi, Malfoy," Harry said awkwardly. "You okay?"  
  
Malfoy's cheeks were red and his eyes narrowed in anger. "You had no right!" he hissed, shaking. "I ... I hate you!" Then the bond turned and went for the door, pulled it open and bolted out.  
  
Harry stared after him for a moment, mouth open and closing. He almost wanted to apologise but he wouldn't have known what to say even if Malfoy had stayed. _Sorry I watched all your most fucked up and intimate moments and got off on it?_ That didn't seem appropriate even if it was true. Harry was startled when Snape flicked his wand and the door slammed closed again, leaving the two of them in the room.  
  
Snape whirled on Harry. "You just can't resist prying can you? Well, maybe we will just have to give you something else to think about."  
  
Harry held his wand out in front of him. "What are you planning on doing?" he demanded.  
  
"I may have to teach you a lesson, Mr Potter," Snape warned and then cast Locking and Silencing Charms on the door. "So no other curious interlopers disturb us," he said.  
  
"Disturb us doing what?" Harry asked suspiciously.  
  
"How many of Mister Malfoys' memories did you watch?" Snape demanded.  
  
Harry shifted uncomfortably, feeling his cheeks go red. "Uh. Well. There was Malfoy having sex with Adrian Pucey. And there was Malfoy having sex with Anthony Goldstein. And between that was Malfoy crying after his father was arrested. And then after Anthony Goldstein was Malfoy...um, being spanked."  
  
"Indeed, only those?" Snape asked, arching an eyebrow.  
  
"Well, I was interrupted," Harry retorted. His cheeks weren’t the only things growing warm, his cock twitching in interest at the memories replaying in his mind.  
  
Snape laughed. It was an odd sound, deep and rough. He stepped closer to Harry, eyes flickering down toward Harry's renewed erection.  
  
Harry felt his skin prickle with heat, as if Snape were a fire instead of a person. "I ... I haven't seen you since before the holiday. I was wondering where you were."  
  
Snape arched an eyebrow. "I have been ... busy." He tugged Harry forward, against himself and covered Harry’s mouth with his own.  
  
Where Malfoy's mouth had been soft and wet and plump, Snape's was thin and dry and tasted vaguely of herbs. If Harry had had to imagine it, he would have thought snogging Snape would be like getting a mouthful of rotting parchment. It wasn't. It was ... pleasant. Pleasant enough to make Harry's cock take notice. He realised as Snape drew him closer that though he had kissed a girl, and he had kissed a boy, he had never before kissed a man.  
  
Snape's lips were firm and demanding, almost nibbling at Harry's, his grip on Harry's head, controlling the angle and his other hand coming to rest on the small of Harry's back, pulling him closer so that he rubbed against the man. Snape's hardness ground against Harry's hip, insistent, demanding. Harry felt a sudden thrill of trepidation, and. despite himself, he pushed away. Then Snape's tongue pressed between his lips, coaxing them apart.  
  
Harry moaned as Snape's tongue entered his mouth. It felt _invasive_ , almost, like a ... claiming. Like Snape was staking ownership. And fuck if that thought didn't make Harry's aching cock jerk and dribble in his pants.  
  
Snape’s kiss was as demanding as the rest of his attitude, his tongue twisting with Harry's. Harry's hands were tangled in Snape's robes, wanting more, wanting to _feel_. Harry cupped Snape's face, touched his throat, his hair—not greasy, like he'd thought it would be, but slick and coarse between his fingers—felt his arms, surprised at the sinewy muscle he found, then moved down to rub his back, up again to rest, finally, on his shoulders.  
  
Snape broke the kiss, actually nipping a bit at Harry's lower lip and chin. Both eyebrows rose and his black eyes met Harry's. His hand slid down Harry’s front until that large hand closed over Harry's groin, cupping his prick through his increasingly damp pants and pressing. Harry's hips bucked involuntarily, and he buried his face in Snape's chest, mentally begging him to move, oh fuck, just _touch_ it ...  
  
And, amazingly, his wish was granted. Snape drew his hand up the front and then tugged Harry’s pants down. Then long firm fingers curled around Harry's prick, squeezing, thumb swiping over the head. Harry gibbered something indecipherable and thrust into Snape's hand. Long cool fingers massaged his cock expertly, root to weeping tip, but Harry needed _more_ —more friction, more pressure, more ... Snape. He squeezed Snape's shoulders and moaned helplessly, knees buckling as Snape's hands moved down to cup his tight balls.  
  
Snape laid Harry back, sweeping quill, ink and anything else on the desktop to the floor and yanking Harry's shorts and trousers the rest of the way off.  
  
"What're you–" Harry gasped out. But his question was summarily answered as Snape's hot mouth closed around his cock. The older man's hands pushed Harry's legs, spreading him wide as he sucked, taking Harry's prick deep into his throat.  
  
Harry moaned and arched into the wet vacuum of Snape's mouth. Snape took him to the root, burying his nose in Harry's bush and swallowing around his hot cock.  
  
"Fuck—Snape–" Harry groaned, carding his fingers through the man's hair. "Feels good..."  
  
Snape's long strong fingers were gripping Harry's thighs as he worked his mouth up and down, tongue and lips moving to do amazing things to Harry's cock. Snape didn't suck cock like Draco. Draco's mouth had been soft and worshipful. Snape, on the other hand, sucked cock like he meant it. He was fucking Harry's cock with his mouth. And Harry was loving every minute of it. The man went at it with the determination that he showed toward everything, sucking Harry until he could feel his balls drawing up with impending release.  
  
Then he reached it, shuddered and spilled down Snape's throat. Snape licked the slit of Harry's softening prick until he whimpered, the sensation too much on his oversensitive cockhead.  
  
Snape stood then, looking down at Harry with eyes dark as he pulled out his own cock and began stroking himself. Harry could take a hint. A little hesitantly, he reached out and closed his hand around Snape's cock. It felt alive in his palm, heavy and hot and throbbing, as though with its own heartbeat. Snape didn't let go, instead guiding Harry's hand as he showed him how he liked it, breath coming in pants that were almost moans.  
  
Harry ran his thumb over Snape's ruddy cockhead. Pre-come pearled at the slit, smearing Harry's fingers. Unaccountably, his mouth watered. Fuck. He wanted to suck Snape's cock. Harry looked up at Snape, flushed and bright-eyed with arousal.  
  
"D'you want me to, you know?" he asked awkwardly. "To do what you did?"  
  
"Yes, I want to see you wrap your lips around it," Snape said, voice almost his usual sneer but deeper.  
  
Snape pulled Harry in for a long lingering kiss, swirling his tongue around the mouth that he was about to plunder. Then, not ungently, he pushed Harry to his knees and presented his cock.  
  
Seen from this angle, Snape's cock looked impossibly, terrifyingly big, like a bratwurst bobbing between his legs. The weeping eye stared at Harry accusingly. 'Too much of a coward to finish what you started?' it seemed to say.  
  
Harry took a deep breath and gave the crown a tentative lick. The _flavour_ of it—Harry weighed the taste on his tongue, salty and—chlorinate? A little bitter, perhaps. He closed his lips over Snape's cockhead and sucked meditatively, trying to analyse the precise savor of sweat and hot, silky skin mingled with sticky pearls of pre-come.  
  
Snape gave a small gasp, hand coming to rest on the top of Harry's head, fingers flexing but not pushing. Harry moved his head forward, trying to take Snape in deeper. His gag reflex rebelled and he choked, throat and eyes burning. He backed off hurriedly.  
  
"You can do better than that, Potter," Snape hissed.  
  
Harry shook his head, sucking determinedly on as much of Snape's prick he could comfortably fit in his mouth—a little past the edge of foreskin drawn back. He took the rest of Snape's length in his hand and began to stroke him, matching the rhythm to that of his sucking.  
  
Snape fingers tightened in his hair. "Yes, good," he moaned.  
  
Encouraged by what was in all probability the first approving comment Snape had ever made to him, Harry slid his mouth further down on the man's cock, trying to ignore his watering eyes.  
  
"Don't try to take too much yet," Snape warned. He reached down and took Harry's hand, moving it down. "Touch my bullocks."  
  
Harry obeyed, cupping Snape's scrotum and rolling the sensitive pouch in his hand. Encouraged by Snape's moans, Harry stroked and squeezed the tightening sac, even being so experimental as to play with the web of skin between Snape's balls. Snape widened his stance a little, fingertips stroking Harry’s scalp and curling around the back of his head, firm but feeling really good.  
  
Harry sucked Snape to a mellow orgasm, hands working cock and balls as he swallowed two bittersweet mouthfuls of come. He was rewarded by a low moan and the feeling of Snape's legs trembling. Those fingers stayed in place, soothing a bit of scalp that had been pulled when Snape had tightened his hand as he came.  
  
Carefully, Harry disengaged his lips from Snape's cock. "So, how did I do?" he asked, half-serious.  
  
Snape arched an eyebrow, looking down at him with the hint of a smirk. "Certainly more than adequate for the task," he answered, then seemingly reluctant to do so, released Harry's hair and moved to fasten up his own robes.  
  
Harry stood, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He looked around and found his own clothing, pulling on the pants and trousers. Harry glanced toward the Pensieve. "I'm not sorry I watched them," he declared, chin lifted a bit defiantly.  
  
Snape looked torn between chastising Harry and amusement. "You shouldn't pry into other people's business."  
  
"So you tell me, but it seems to work fine for me," Harry quipped, both eyebrows raised. Then he remembered the look on Malfoy's face. "Malfoy, is he going to be a ponce about this?"  
  
Snape frowned. "His ... difficulties are not a laughing matter."  
  
Harry felt a pang of guilt at that. "Well, I hope he doesn't take it too hard. I mean I ... liked what we did. I'd like to do it agian."  
  
"Eager for more time on your knees?" Snape challenged, though he didn't look displeased.  
  
"Or over your desk," Harry shot back.  
  
Snape's brows furrowed. "Your cheek aside, we might find that ... mutually beneficial." Then he reached and pulled Harry forward against, mouth taking Harry's in an insistent kiss.  
  
***  
  
Draco fled, panicked and looking for somewhere to hide. He found himself in the disused loo on the second floor. He turned on the taps and splashed water on his flushed face, still shaking. He was mortified, not only by the nature of his returned memories, but by the knowledge that Potter had seen them. Those memories contained his weakest and most depraved moments of the previous year and Draco had enough difficulty accepting them back into his consciousness, without the added fear that Potter's involvement brought.  
  
His life had taken a bizarre turn this year. His father was in Azkaban, he'd been ordered by Voldemort to kill Dumbledore, was having sex with his Head of House, and now... with Harry Potter, sworn enemy. And he wasn't sure why Severus had engineered that. He seemed to think that it would make things better for Draco. It was true that Draco had ... been attracted to Potter but he wasn't as optimistic about the other boy's ability to help. Dumbledore knew of the mission and seemed unconcerned—or possibly unwilling to do anything that let Voldemort know that Snape, and Draco, weren't still firmly in the Death Eater camp. Draco thought about his mother, wondering when he'd see her again, if ever.  
  
Unless Severus or Dumbledore surprised him with some brilliant plan, Draco realised he would have to follow through with Voldemort's orders. Letting Severus kill Dumbledore for him didn't seem any better either. Voldemort would kill Draco and his family and Dumbledore would still be dead.  
  
"What're _you_ doing here?" a watery voice from behind him demanded. "Don't you know that this is a _girl's_ bathroom?"  
  
"Piss off," Draco snapped, chagrined to be caught, even if it was by a ghost.  
  
Moaning Myrtle's chin wobbled, and she gave out a gulping sob. "Oh, of all the insensitive things to say!" she wailed. "You know I don't have anywhere else to go. Nobody wants to be around Moaning Myrtle. I can't help it if I'm dead!"  
  
Draco thought that if she had been even half this shrill before, he completely understood why someone had killed her. He gripped the sink with both hands, closing his eyes. "Yeah, that's me, an insensitive arse."  
  
"Well, at least you admit it," said Myrtle, somewhat mollified. "Are you _crying_?"  
  
"I never cry," Draco insisted, grimacing when he looked in the mirror and noticed his eyes were red.  
  
"Li-ar," Myrtle sing-songed. "What's got you so upset, anyway? It's not as if you have anything to worry about. You're alive."  
  
"Not for much longer," he retorted before he thought better of it.  
  
"Oh?" Myrtle brightened up. "You're welcome to share my bathroom. It gets _terribly_ lonely all on my own."  
  
"Thanks," Draco sneered. The idea of an eternity trapped in the loo sounded almost worse than facing Voldemort.  
  
"Are you going to kill yourself?" Myrtle asked, propping her transparent elbows up on the sink next to him. "You look like the sort of person who would kill himself. All pale and tortured-looking. Is it because of a girl?"  
  
Draco's nose wrinkled in disgust. "No, not girls. My life would be loads simpler if it was."  
  
"Ah, so you're a pouf," Myrtle said knowledgeably. "I suppose it's not a bad reason to kill yourself."  
  
Draco scowled at her. "No, cock makes me happy. It's that the bloke I want finally wants me, but I can't have him."  
  
"Why not?"  
  
"I'm a Malfoy and he's bloody Harry Potter, that's why!"  
  
"So?"  
  
Draco looked at her in exasperation. Draco's life, his parents' lives, all hung on him doing what the madman had ordered. He didn't even want to imagine what Voldemort would do if he found Draco had feelings for The Boy Who Lived.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Draco is so confused.]


	11. Sleepless

The tricky thing was getting Draco alone. He was usually ensconced in a group of Slytherins, and Harry could hardly go up to him in the Great Hall and ask for a chat.  
  
Harry had taken to bringing the Map to bed with him. All the better for furtively checking up on Draco when Harry woke up in the middle of the night, as he always did, from a dream of Snape's cock in his mouth, or Draco's mouth on his cock, and a blinding flash of green light. He would find Draco in bed, or more often pacing beside it. On those nights Harry's hand would twitch for the Invisibility Cloak. He'd have to talk himself out of sneaking into the Slytherin dormitory, tackling Draco into bed, and handily silencing the prat's objections by sticking his tongue into his mouth.  
  
Exactly seven and a half days since sucking Snape (not, of course, that Harry was counting), Harry was lying awake at three in the morning, half-heartedly masturbating with one hand and covering a yawn with the other. As usual, he was too tired to come and too horny to sleep. Giving up on both, he turned over and fished the Map out from under his bed. To his surprise, the dot labeled 'Draco Malfoy' was not marching his usual sleepless vigil by his bed in the Slytherin dormitory. Draco was, of all places, in the Astronomy Tower.  
  
Harry had swung his legs over the bed and was pulling on pants and shoes and the Invisibility Cloak before he had time to think. Finally, he had his chance to talk to Draco. And say what, he didn't know. Something heartrendingly elegant. Maybe he'd quote poetry. Did Harry know any poetry? No matter; he'd wing it. He was always at his best when he had no idea what he was doing.  
  
Harry sped to the Astronomy Tower as quickly and quietly as possible, skirting the scraggly shadow of Mrs Norris lurking by the stairs. The corridors were cold, but the Tower was frigid. By the time he reached the top of the stairs, Harry could see his breath and his fingers were going numb. Draco was at the edge of the stone railing, sitting on the edge. He was wrapped in a dark cloak so that his pale skin and white-blond hair stood out against it. His face was turned upward, looking at the sky and he seemed lost in thought.  
  
Harry quashed the impulse to sneak up on and jump him. That was not the way to begin a mature conversation about almost-adult relationships.  
  
Instead he pulled off the Cloak and called softly, "Malfoy?"  
  
Draco jumped slightly and Harry could tell that under the cloak his hand reached for a wand. He didn't raise it though. His eyes narrowed and focussed on Harry. "Potter? Why are you out here?"  
  
Good question. Harry coughed awkwardly and attempted a grin. "Just wanted to get some air, you know."  
  
One pale eyebrow lifted in obvious disbelief. "Yes, by all means, it's such a lovely evening," Draco drawled, his breath coming out in visible puffs.  
  
"Then why are you out here?" Harry asked, coming closer. "Practicing your stargazing for the N.E.W.T.s?"  
  
"What does it matter?" Draco answered, his voice sounding weary. "You're probably here to gloat about the secrets you found out in that Pensieve. I don't care." He turned his face away again, looking out over the frosty grounds of Hogwarts.  
  
Harry went to sit by Draco. The stone balcony was so cold it made him wince.  
  
"That's not true. You haven't given me a chance to react one way or another." Harry paused, pulling at a thread unraveling from his pajamas. "You just ... you haven't given me a chance … Draco. About anything."  
  
Draco was quiet and still for so long, Harry almost worried that the other boy wouldn't answer. He could tell by the sort of wince Draco made that he'd heard. Finally, Draco sighed and then tilted his head to look at Harry. "And just what would you want a chance to do, Potter?"  
  
Harry could think of several dozen things, all of them obscene. He thought for a minute, trying to assemble his thoughts into something sensible and coherent.  
  
When he opened his mouth, however, what came out was, "I think I might be gay."  
  
This time, he saw a small twitch in Draco's lips that looked like an almost smile. The eyebrow was back up. "And?"  
  
"I don't—I'd never thought about it, before. Being ... you know, with blokes. Then, with you ..." Harry pulled at the thread. A hole appeared over his knee. "Then I was with you."  
  
"I sucked your cock, Potter. Most men would like that, gay or not," Draco sneered, a bit of colour coming to his cheeks as he did.  
  
"Ginny kissed me," Harry said abruptly. "She kissed me and I didn't feel anything except vaguely terrified that Ron was going to kill me with his bare hands. Then you kissed me. And yeah, I was still a bit worried that Ron was going to kill me, but it didn't seem all that important as long as you kept on kissing me."  
  
Draco's eyes widened at that and he didn't quite manage to hide that it startled him. "Kissing..." he whispered in surprise.  
  
"Here," said Harry. "I'll show you."  
  
And then Draco's face was in his hands, Draco's lips against his lips, and nothing was important all over again.  
  
Draco's skin was cool and smoother than he remembered. He shuddered when Harry's lips covered his. Those pale lashes fluttered and grey eyes closed, even as Draco opened his mouth under Harry's. Harry kissed him until he couldn't breathe. Then he pulled back.  
  
"So," he said, gasping a little. "What d'you think?"  
  
Draco leaned toward him, chasing Harry's lips with his own. "More," he whispered against Harry's.  
  
"Mf," Harry said. "No. Wait. I need—I need to know what we are. What this is. Are you my boyfriend or not?"  
  
"What?" Draco gasped. "I ... I don't know. And what about Sev ... Professor Snape?"  
  
Harry paused. "Could I be ... boyfriends with both of you?" he asked tentatively.  
  
A gust of wind caught them, sending Draco's blond hair fluttering and both of them shivering. "Can we talk somewhere warmer?" Draco asked.  
  
Harry huffed impatiently. "Fine. Where?'  
  
"One of the classrooms? We can find one that isn't locked," Draco suggested.  
  
Harry remembered the scene he'd watched in the Pensieve, the one with Draco and Adriane Pucey in a classroom. His cock liked that enough to twitch eagerly despite the cold. He grabbed Draco's hand and tugged him along after until they were back inside. They made their way to the second floor and tried a couple doors, before finding one left unlocked.  
  
There was enough light filtering through the windows to allow them to see as they made their way past rows. When Draco reached the teacher's desk, he reached up, unfastened his cloak and laid it across the back of a chair. He was dressed in a dark grey jumper and trousers. He seemed suddenly shy, despite what they'd already done together with Snape. He leaned against the edge of the desk.  
  
"What now?" he whispered, looking down at his own lap. It reminded Harry of the submissive side of Draco he'd seen with Snape.  
  
Harry took off his own cloak and perched beside him, edging close enough that their elbows touched. "I want to be with you," Harry said, trying not to think about how bloody cliche that sounded. "With both of you. You and Snape. Is that ... normal? For, er, gays, I mean."  
  
"You think I know what's _normal_?" Draco huffed.  
  
Harry laughed despite himself. "Fair enough."  
  
Draco's lips curled up a little, the first hint of a smile. "I just ... know what I want. Well, most of the time."  
  
Harry looked down at his own hands. "And, er. You want ... me?"  
  
Draco's hands had been twisting together in his own lap. Now one of them crept forward to rest on Harry's thigh. "Yes," he heard whispered.  
  
Harry let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding. "Brilliant." He moved his hand over, curling his fingers around Draco's. The other boy's hair had fallen forward a bit, and he was looking sideways through his fringe at Harry. Draco smiled, probably the first genuine smile Harry had ever gotten from him.  
  
On impulse, Harry raised Draco's hand to his mouth and kissed it. For some reason it seemed the appropriate thing to do. Then he stood up and tugged Draco with him, stepping in close to press his lips to Draco's. He felt Draco's fingers tighten in his and mouth open against his own. It was like they the kiss on the tower, only now Draco was relaxing into it.  
  
It was ... nice. Not urgent and hungry, as their kisses had been before, but slow, gentle. Harry licked Draco's tongue, sucked it into his mouth. Draco's face was cold. He must have been up on the Tower a long time. Harry pulled him close, running warm hands over goose-pimpled skin.  
  
He felt Draco tremble, his hands coming up to grip the sides of Harry's shirt. He tilted his head, allowing a deeper kiss as his tongue twisted along Harry's.  
  
Harry unbuttoned Draco’s shirt with one hand, the other fumbling with the closure of Draco's trousers.  
  
He could feel Draco's erection pushing against the buttons, eager for Harry's touch. The other boy's breath hitched but he didn't resist, his kisses a little more eager.  
  
Harry slid his hand inside Draco's trousers. He wasn't wearing underwear. His cock was live heat in Harry's palm, and he hissed as Harry began to stroke him.  
  
"Oh, oh," Draco gasped, fingers of this hands curling into the fabric of Harry's shirt, gripping him as he trembled.  
  
Harry leaned forward and closed his teeth gently around Draco's throat—and then, when he moaned and wriggled encouragingly, bit less gently, until the moan turned into a yelp. Harry soothed the sore skin with his tongue and rolled Draco's balls in his palm.  
  
Draco widened his stance, giving Harry better access. He tugged Harry's shirt up, out of his trousers, dragging it up enough to slip his fingers under the fabric and against Harry's skin.  
  
Harry sucked in his breath as Draco tweaked his nipples. He'd never had this done before, never done it himself, but it felt amazingly good, and he arced into Draco's touch, pulling at his cock almost savagely.  
  
"I want to fuck you," he whispered. The words felt as though they'd been torn out of him, bitten and chewed.  
  
Draco groaned, his prick in Harry's hand twitching in response. His nimble fingers slid up, mapping Harry's torso. "Now?"  
  
"Definitely," Harry gasped. "Very definitely now."  
  
Harry could tell Draco wanted it, his body arching into every stroke and shuddering, breath broken gasps and eyes half closed. "Sev..."  
  
"I sucked him, didn't I?" Harry wheedled, pressing his tented crotch into Draco's thigh. "You're so, god, so gorgeous like this, I can't stop..."  
  
Draco bent his knee, making it easier for Harry to ride his leg a bit. Then he seemed to still and his eyes opened, looking at Harry. "You did? When?"  
  
Harry stilled. "I thought you—oh bugger, of course you wouldn't know. You left after you got your memories back. And it—happened. Are you angry?"  
  
Draco's face flushed and he sucked in a breath. Harry would have been more worried if Draco's cock hadn't only gotten harder. He closed his eyes for a moment. "I ... I can picture it."  
  
Harry grinned. "I bet."  
  
"Tell me," Draco whispered, rocking into Harry so his cock pressed into his palm and his thigh slid against Harry's groin.  
  
"It tasted...strange," Harry replied, rubbing his palm across Draco's chest. "Bitter. Good. It was soft, in my mouth—hard and soft at the same time. Hot. It was hot. And...good. I liked it." He blushed to the roots of his hair at the admission.  
  
Draco shuddered in response. He looked intently at Harry, clearly further aroused by his words. "Are you going to compare our taste?" he whispered.  
  
Harry reddened further, from arousal this time. "Did you?" he retorted.  
  
"Mmm, yes," Draco said, licking his lips.  
  
Harry laughed, muffling it against Draco's neck. "Pervert."  
  
Draco huffed against his hair.  
  
"We should," Harry said, nuzzling Draco's shoulder. "You know."  
  
Draco whined a bit, pushing up into Harry's stilled hand. "Yes, please," he begged.  
  
Harry gave Draco's erection a final firm stroke. He kissed him once, hard, before sliding down to kneel between his parted legs. Draco's pants were bunched around his knees. Harry yanked them off. Draco unbuttoned his shirt while Harry did, slipping it off and tossing it onto a nearby chair.  
  
There was something very pleasing (Harry thought) about the way Draco's pale body looked against the dark wood of the desk, his too-red erection jutting between his thighs. Harry rubbed his cheek against the inside of Draco's thigh, breathing in the clean sweaty smell of him. Draco's cock was lean and well-proportioned, like the rest of him. Harry drew back the hood of foreskin, eliciting a mewl, and kissed the tip of it. Draco's fingers curled around the edge of the desk, holding tight and watching Harry with his mouth open, panting.  
  
Harry had never thought about doing this before, but he had imagined, in a vague way, that the taste would be awful. Draco didn't taste awful. He tasted clean and salty and ever so slightly bitter, with a sort of light musky essence that made Harry's nostrils flare. It was...good. Right, somehow, for him to taste like this. Harry drew Draco in deeper, until his mouth was filled with the heat and weight of him.  
  
He could feel the tension in the other boy's thighs and heard the sound of Draco's panting.  
  
Harry ran his hands up Draco's thighs. Smooth as a girl's. His balls tightened when Harry touched them, silky with light white curls. He cupped and caressed them.  
  
"Gods," Draco hissed, spreading his legs even more and falling back on the desk, so he was only propped up by his elbows.  
  
Draco's testicles were proving a point of fascination for Harry. He abandoned sucking Draco's dick for a moment in order to lick and nuzzle them. The muskiness was stronger here. It made Harry feel hot and feral. He sucked one taut nut into his mouth, then the other. Like apricots, or peaches. The taste. He wanted to swallow Draco whole.  
  
Draco shuddered, feet flailing a bit, heels knocking against the side of the desk. "Potter," he gasped. "Wait."  
  
Harry pulled back, surprised at his reluctance. "What?"  
  
"I... I want to ... touch you too," Draco managed, so aroused he seemed to be having trouble speaking. He held out a hand toward Harry. "Take off your clothes."  
  
Harry shucked off his shirt, trousers, and underwear, too hasty at the thought of Draco touching him to make any attempt at a sexy striptease.  
  
Draco pulled himself more fully onto the top of the desk, knees bent and legs spread. "Climb up here," he suggested.  
  
Awkwardly, Harry positioned himself over Draco, kneeling between his legs. Their erections brushed together. He shivered. "Like this?"  
  
Draco shuddered, arching up so that his cock rubbed against Harry's even more. "Yesss ... but ... turn around."  
  
Feeling even more awkward, Harry clambered around so that he was straddling Draco's middle, arse and balls in full view. "What..." he began.  
  
Draco's hands slide up Harry's thighs, caressing a minute before they curled around and tugged him back toward Draco.  
  
Harry arched his back, face level with Draco's cock. It was slick from spit and pre-cum. Harry bent his head and rubbed his lips across the tip, flicking out his tongue to tease the slit open.  
  
Draco groaned and mirrored rubbing his cheek against the shaft of Harry's erection that hung above him.  
  
Encouraged, Harry moved his mouth down around Draco's cock, licking at the thick vein there. He wrapped his hands around the bottom of the shaft and began moving them in the corkscrew motion that he used when he touched himself. He felt Draco lapping at his balls, the long fingers of one hand sliding up the shaft of Harry's cock, curling about it to gently squeeze.  
  
Harry moaned around Draco's cock. This opened his throat, allowing Draco to slide in further. Harry had never felt so— _full_ of another person. His eyes watered, jaw ached; he wanted to cum so badly and at the same time didn't want to cum at all, wanted to stay here with Draco Malfoy's hard cock in his mouth for the rest of his life.  
  
He felt the warmth of Draco's mouth around his balls, sucking them inside as he stroked Harry's cock. He felt the vibration of Draco's moan around him.  
  
Harry could feel minute shudders running through Draco's thighs. The cock twitched in his mouth; Draco gasped, hips bucking. He came buried in Harry's throat, fingers tightening around Harry's cock so hard he gave out a choking hiss of pleasure/pain.  
  
Draco pulled back, letting Harry's balls slip from his mouth and moaning through his orgasm, breath hot against Harry’s sac.  
  
Harry swallowed most of Draco's cum, some of it trickling from the corners of his mouth. He licked up what he had spilled, running his tongue along the cut lines of Draco's stomach.  
  
Draco's fingers moved down, pulling back Harry's foreskin and then swirling his tongue around the crown. Harry's head fell forward, nose buried in Draco's pubic hair and teeth scraping his navel. Fuck.  
  
Draco hummed in approval, mouth closing over the head and sucking. Harry shuddered, dangerously close to orgasm. He thrust his hips in a wordless plea. Draco didn't seem to mind, taking him in and hands cupping his balls as he did.  
  
Harry gasped out his orgasm, shuddering, sweating, spurting again and again into Draco's mouth. Draco kept sucking until Harry stilled, only then giving Harry's cock another couple of licks before letting it slip from his mouth. Harry flopped forward, head resting on Draco's thighs, panting for all he was worth.  
  
Once he'd regained some fraction of his composure, Harry rolled off of Draco and onto his side, so that they lay head to feet on the desk. Draco nudged Harry's head with his foot. Harry nudged back.  
  
"So," Harry said, trying to sound nonchalant. "What d'you think?"  
  
He felt rather than saw Draco turn his head. "About what?" he asked softly.  
  
Harry was glad Draco couldn't see the red in his cheeks. "You know ... this. Us. It's a bit—strange, isn't it? Not," he hastened to add, "that I'm unhappy about—us. At all."  
  
Draco pushed up on to his elbows, looking down at Harry. "I ... I wouldn't have guessed, about you," he admitted.  
  
"That I'm—that I like blokes?"  
  
Draco nodded, his hair, now longer than he used to wear it, falling into his face a bit. "I usually—I usually can tell who does."  
  
"I suppose that must help." Harry pushed himself up so that he sat cross-legged facing Draco. "I wish I could. Tell, I mean." He laughed ruefully. "God, I couldn't even tell about myself, could I? Not for years."  
  
Draco brought his feet up on to the desk, but stayed leaning back on his elbows, looking up now at Harry. He looked different than Harry had ever seen him, more relaxed. And he seemed completely comfortable laying nude beside Harry. "I think I've always known, about myself, that is."  
  
"How?" Harry asked too quickly. "Did you just wake up one day and—know, suddenly?"  
  
The blond's cheeks turned pink and he looked away. He licked his lips before answer. "I noticed boys."  
  
"Did you notice any boys in particular?"  
  
That only seemed to make Draco's blush deepen, spreading down his neck. He drew his knees up, sitting with his chin on them. He seemed to be struggling with the answer. "Of course," he whispered.  
  
Harry pushed his shoulder playfully. "Go on, then. Tell. And maybe I'll let you know how Oliver Wood looks in the shower after Quidditch practice."  
  
Draco wrapped his arms around his legs and pressed his forehead to his knees, hiding his face. "Yeah, Quidditch players," he murmured.  
  
"Is that your type?" Harry pressed. "Athletes."  
  
Draco murmured something but it was muffled by his legs.  
  
"Hey." Harry poked Draco's knee. "You all right?"  
  
Draco unfolded himself, still not meeting Harry's eyes. "Doesn't matter," he said with a shrug.  
  
Harry furrowed his brow. "What doesn't?"  
  
"Who I like. Doesn't matter, really. It's not like I can be in a real relationship," Draco answered, looking away again.  
  
Harry felt more confused than ever. "What about Snape?"  
  
Draco frowned, looking back at Harry under the cover of his fringe. "What about him? He's not exactly going to want to admit what he's doing with a student."  
  
"Still. He cares about you."  
  
Draco nodded. "He cares and does his best to protect me."  
  
"But you want someone you can be open with," Harry finished. "A boyfriend."  
  
The flush returned and Draco's lips were a thin unhappy line. He took a deep breath and let it out. "Don't worry about it, Potter. I'm sure you'll find someone you want among all your admirers."  
  
"Steady on!" said Harry. "What do you mean, 'my admirers'? I'm certainly not going to shag the Creeveys, if that's what you mean."  
  
Draco's pointed noise scrunched up in distaste. "I should hope not."  
  
"Who, then?"  
  
"Oh, now I'm supposed to help you figure out who wants you?" Draco asked, sounding both horrified and amused.  
  
Harry shrugged, feeling hot and irritated. _Was Draco making fun of him?_ "I don't know what you're trying to say," he said stiffly.  
  
Draco huffed, shaking his head. "I know you're just playing around with me until you find someone ... more suitable."  
  
Harry reeled back so hard he almost fell off the desk. "What?"  
  
Draco slipped off the desk and began gathering his clothes. "Don't worry about it, Potter. You won't have trouble finding men interested in you."  
  
"I don't want some random man, I want _you_!" Harry blurted before he could stop himself.  
  
Draco froze in place, trousers hanging from his fingers. He looked back over his shoulder, eyes wide with surprise. "What?"  
  
"You heard me." Harry grabbed his shirt and yanked it over his head. "Never mind. Think whatever you want."  
  
Harry didn't wait for Draco to reply. He threw on his pants and cloak and stormed out of the classroom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Oh, boys, boys... sigh.]


	12. Unresolved

Getting sucked off by Harry Potter should have been the highlight of Draco's week. In fact, given how long he'd lusted after the git, it should have plastered a permanent smile on his face. Instead, he was now wishing he'd thrown himself off that tower rather than follow the Gryffin-dork down to that empty classroom.  
  
He didn't know if he should be furious or relieved when Potter proceeded to ignore him for the next two days. Draco scowled, stomping around and snapping at everyone so that even other Slytherins were edging away from him.  
  
Then there was Severus, who had, apparently, also been having Potter suck his dick. Draco couldn't seem to make sense of Severus' behavior in the whole mess, especially after how jealous he had been previously. What was he up to? Had Draco just been someone to dally with until someone better—The Chosen One—came along? Or was this part of some plan to seduce Potter and turn him over to the Dark Lord?  
  
Draco found his stomach flipped painfully when he thought of that possibility. Draco hated the Dark Lord with a sick dread that he had learnt to mask. He trusted Severus, but he still hadn't really decided what long-term game the Professor had planned.  
  
Draco's appetite was gone and he was losing sleep. Whenever he glanced toward the front of the Great Hall, it seemed that even Severus was ignoring him. By the time Draco stumbled into Potions Class, he was distracted and grumpy, moving to a seat away from everyone else.  
  
Potter was sitting with Granger and Weasley. They had their heads together, Granger's mousy mane clashing sharply with Weasley's ginger. From their expressions, they seemed to be sharing a joke.  
  
As though sensing Draco's eyes on him, Harry looked up sharply. Draco wanted to look bored and superior, but his jaw clenched and he unable to stop the heat that crawled up his neck and over his face. He forced himself to look away, focusing on Severus. It didn't help. Severus was eyeing the two of them with a sour, speculative look.  
  
Draco hadn't even heard what potion they were supposed to be brewing. He dragged out his potions book, hoping to figure it out when he heard Severus call out potion pair assignments—"Malfoy and Potter."  
  
Immediately, Harry's spine went rigid. Granger and Weasley tried to shoot him sympathetic looks, but his eyes were locked on Snape, as though willing him to take it back.  
  
Draco sat rooted to the spot unwilling to act on the command. Snape refused to meet Draco's eyes, continuing his "random" pairing as the rest of the students moved around trying to take their new spots.  
  
Clearly, Harry was also not prepared to move. Both of them stubbornly still as the other students shuffled into their new pairings, Crabbe reluctantly plopping down next to Seamus Finnegan and Granger perching gingerly across the table from Pansy Parkinson.  
  
"Potter, you were given an order," Severus snapped.  
  
Harry's lips thinned to a straight, grim line. Slowly he stood, collected his things, and stalked over to Draco's table. He dragged a stool over from the neighboring work station, ignoring Lavender Brown's squeal of indignation, and sat as far away from Draco as he possibly could without blocking the aisle.  
  
Draco found he was gripping the edge of the table so hard his hands hurt. He forced himself to let go and return to looking in his potions book. His mind was spinning, trying to figure out how not to talk to Potter and get through the lesson. Draco heard the other students talking about ingredients, "shivelfig, wormwood..." and he realised they would be brewing the Elixir of Euphoria.  
  
"Right," said Harry, through his teeth. "What first?"  
  
"Get the ingredients, Potter," Draco snapped, setting the cauldron in place.  
  
Harry glared at him sideways. "Don't. Tell me. What to do."  
  
"Problem, Mr Potter?" Snape drawled, coming toward them.  
  
Draco seethed, feeling set-up by both of them and wishing he could just hex Potter instead. Potter, for his part, had ducked down into the folds of his robes and was directing his glare at the floor between Snape's robes.  
  
"Well, Potter, didn't you hear Mr Malfoy's instructions?" Snape continued.  
  
Harry got up, not removing his eyes from the floor, and stomped over to the supply cabinet, where he began noisily rummaging for ingredients.  
  
"Mr Malfoy, I expect you and Mr Potter to find a way to ... get along, in and out of my classroom," Snape whispered and Draco felt a shiver of memory, him on his knees in front of Potter, sucking him.  
  
Harry clattered back with an armful of jars, which he dumped in front of Draco.  
  
Draco's jaw tensed, trying to control his reaction. He gave Severus a nod, even if he wanted to yell at him for starting this whole mess.  
  
Severus moved on to inspect, and jeer at, the progress of other students. Draco turned and began sorting through the jars. "Good, will do ... that's disgusting. Did you just grab the first thing of the shelf?"  
  
"No," Harry ground out. "Shrivelfig, porcupine quills, castor beans, and wormwood." He jabbed a finger at each jar as he named them. "I'm not an _idiot_ , Draco."  
  
Draco snorted but picked up the jar with the shrivelfig and a knife, working to skin it for the potion. Harry seemed to think he'd contributed enough to their efforts. He poked half-heartedly through dried sheaves of wormwood, pretending he wasn't watching Draco from under his fringe.  
  
The observation made Draco nervous and he slipped, cutting more off than he intended. "Well, don't just stand there. Prepare the castor beans," he hissed.  
  
Harry shot him a look of utter loathing. Still, he threw a handful of beans in the mortar and began crushing them with a rather worrying gusto.  
  
Draco tried to focus on the task, cutting the rest of the shivelfigs and then reached for the wormwood.  
His hand collided with Harry's.  
  
"Problem?" Harry snapped, closing his fingers over the wormwood.  
  
"You haven't even finished the beans and I don't want you ruining the wormwood," Draco snarled, shoving Harry back.  
  
Harry smacked Draco's hands away. "I'm _multi-tasking_!"  
  
"You're an imbecile," Draco retorted, grabbing Harry's wrist to stop him from touching the wormwood.  
  
"Look who's talking!" Harry pushed Draco's shoulder.  
  
Draco felt humiliated. How dare Potter do this to him, after ... well, after. He grabbed Harry’s other arm and shoved.  
  
Harry shoved back. Soon they were pushing each other back and forth and shouting obscenities at each other.  
  
The rest of the room watched, friends of both sides jeering insults at the opponent of their house's "champion." Draco managed to twist, trying to get leverage over Potter, and to his surprise, they both went down, falling to the floor and knocking over chairs.  
  
Harry was at least ten pounds heavier. He managed to roll over on top of Draco, pinning him to the floor.  
  
The pressure of Potter's thighs, holding his and the other boy's groins together, sent a sudden rush of arousal through Draco. He flushed in embarrassment, feeling renewed anger at his helplessness. "Get off me!" he hissed.  
  
Potter's eyes went wide with surprise. Before he could respond, Severus's shadow fell over them.  
  
"Stop this instant and get up!" Severus' voice sent a chill down Draco's spine, but really didn't help his problem.  
  
Harry pushed himself off of Draco and rolled onto his feet. "Sorry, sir," he said sullenly.  
  
Draco scrambled to get up, pulling his robes to that they closed more over his front, to conceal his state. He glared at Potter, who had _never_ spoken so differentially to Severus before. "Arse," Draco muttered under his breath.  
  
Severus' frown deepened. "Brawling, Misters Malfoy and Potter? Both of you will fail today's lesson and report for detention tonight."  
  
Potter looked positively murderous. He grabbed his books off the table and stalked out of the classroom without another word.  
  
"Clean up the mess, Mister Malfoy," Severus ordered and turned his back on him, calling the rest of the class back to work. Draco was so angry he could barely concentrate to use a spell to clear away the potion leavings. When he was done, he hurried back to the dorms before anyone could speak to him.  
  
***  
  
Harry begged off the rest of his classes for the day, claiming food poisoning from a bad Honeydukes pastry. Instead he lay in bed, paging through a history of Quidditch. It took him ten minutes to realise he was holding it upside down.  
  
When Ron came to collect him for dinner, he found Harry pacing up and down in front of his bed.  
  
"Hermione thinks you've gone mad," Ron informed Harry cheerfully. "Me, I think clocking Malfoy is the sanest thing you've done in years."  
  
Harry was not ready to tell Ron just how far Malfoy had driven him round the bend. "The git deserved it," he said fiercely.  
  
"Oh, I believe you, mate," Ron laughed. "Probably spouting off his Pureblood shite again, right?"  
  
"Something like that," Harry muttered.  
  
"Too bad you decided to take down the ferret in front of Snape. Should be an interesting detention."  
  
"Yeah," said Harry darkly. "It will be."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Stubborn gits!]


	13. Taking Draco

By the time Harry had stomped down to the Potions classroom, Draco had already arrived. He was perched on a table at the front of the room, legs crossed under his robe. When he heard Harry come in, he looked up. Draco's jaw was set and while he didn't look nearly as angry as before, he looked away rather than meet Harry's eyes.  
  
Severus was sitting behind his desk. He sighed and stood up. "Both of you, come with me," he ordered.  
  
Harry exchanged a worried look with Draco, then remembered they weren't speaking and looked away. Harry reluctantly followed Severus.  
  
"Where are we going?" Harry asked.  
  
“Somewhere private," Severus insisted, leading them down the hall.  
  
Draco stuck close to Severus with Harry trailing behind. _Teacher's pet_ , Harry thought venomously, then almost laughed. Teacher's pet, indeed.  
  
Harry had never been in a professor's room before, but had he imagined how it would look, this would probably have been the image conjured. The small room with its stone walls and worn secondhand-looking furniture reminded Harry forcibly of his closet at the Dursley's. Though everything was neat, the room didn't seem lived-in somehow; there were no pictures of family and friends, no personal items, no sign that the occupant had put any thought or care into where he lived. There was nothing of Snape invested in the room except the wall-to-wall bookshelves and the worn tomes that occupied them. Across from the shelves was an uncomfortable-looking armchair with an adjacent side table that hosted a single, guttering candle. Harry could easily imagine Snape sitting there and poring over a book into the wee hours of the morning, keeping his place with a long finger while the candle melted into a puddle of wax and finally went out.  
  
Snape led Harry and Malfoy through a door into an adjacent room. When Harry entered, his eyes widened. As uncomfortable as the sitting room had seemed, the bedroom made up for it. The room was completely unfurnished aside from the largest four-poster Harry had ever seen in his life. It was thrice as wide as his own bed in Gryffindor tower, and made up with—with—were those silk sheets? Snape, an owner of silk sheets? The mind boggled.  
  
The only other thing in the room was a big, overstuffed leather chair, that looked like a throne. Snape ushered them in and then cast Locking and Silencing Charms on the door.  
  
“You and Mister Malfoy will resolve this here, not in my classroom," Severus said, sitting down in the chair and gestured at the two of them.  
  
Draco frowned, pursing his lips in a pout. "Nothing to resolve," he grumbled.  
  
"That's right," said Harry woodenly. "We're—whatever we were, it's over."  
  
"So you admit you were just using Draco?" Severus sneered.  
  
Harry felt as though he'd been slapped. "What? No!"  
  
"Then just what is it you wanted from Mister Malfoy?" Severus insisted, one dark eyebrow raised.  
  
Draco was shifting from foot to foot, eyes downcast now. "Severus, don't," he whined.  
  
Harry felt himself getting red. "Dunno," he muttered. "I suppose I wanted a boyfriend. Stupid, right?"  
  
He could swear he saw amusement in Severus' dark eyes and a quirk of those thin lips.  
  
Draco's head snapped up with a gasp. "What?"  
  
Harry got redder. He suspected he must resemble an overripe tomato. "Well? What did YOU want?" he snapped.  
  
Draco opened his mouth to speak but Severus silenced him with a hand held up. "And, what, Potter would that mean to you? What do you think it would mean for Draco?"  
  
"I don't know!" Harry almost shouted. "I've never had a boyfriend before! Or a girlfriend, for that matter."  
  
Severus shook his head and then surprised Harry by switching topics. "How many of Mister Malfoys' memories did you watch?" he demanded.  
  
Harry shifted uncomfortably, feeling his cheeks go red. "Uh. Well. A few."  
  
Malfoy went puce. His entire face, ears and neck flushed. "Shit."  
  
Snape laughed, deep and rough, as he took a seat in the large chair. "So, I take it none of those were of Mister Mafoy's memories of touching himself while calling out your name?"  
  
"Don't ..." Draco whispered, shaking.  
  
Harry was fairly sure that his entire face had turned the same colour Malfoy's arse had been the first night he'd seen them together. "Are you having me on?" he asked suspiciously.  
  
Snape shook his head, still looking amused. "Shall we show him?" he asked a gobsmacked-looking Malfoy. "It seems clear from both the last time ..."  
  
Malfoy's face was red, too, and he looked down at the floor. "He doesn't want that..." he tried to argue with Snape.  
  
"Shut up," Harry said calmly.  
  
Draco's head snapped up in surprise. Before he could reply, Harry walked over to him and cupped his pale, narrow face in his hands. "What do you want, Draco?" he said quietly. "Really want?”  
  
Draco seemed to be having trouble meeting his eyes. He licked his lips, glancing sideways at Severus.  
  
"Tell him," Severus commanded.  
  
Draco seemed to have to force himself to raise his eyes to Harry's. "I ... you. I mean, yes, that's what I want too. You and Severus, with both of you, like you said before, on the tower."  
  
Harry paused. "Could I be ... boyfriends with both of you?" he asked tentatively.  
  
Draco's face flushed again and Harry saw those eyes filled with something new. Where before he'd always seen anger or spite, they were now soft with ... affection? want? Something that stirred his own feelings.  
  
"I want to belong to both of you," Draco confirmed.  
  
"And what of you, Harry? You want to belong to us?" Severus asked, his voice deep with desire, sending a shiver down Harry's back.  
  
Harry licked his lips. He didn't even have to think before the word came to his lips: "Yes." And, "Yes" again, and then, shamefully, a half-whispered, "Please."  
  
"Show us, Harry. Kiss Draco, let him feel it," Severus insisted.  
  
Draco was watching, flushed to his fingertips. Harry took him around the waist, like something out of an old Muggle movie, and pulled him in for a kiss so deep and wet and hot that his toes curled. Harry felt Draco's hands flutter and then come to rest on his sides, gripping him tight as his mouth opened, surrendering with enthusiasm, tongue meeting Harry's. When the kiss ended, Harry felt dizzy. He looked instinctively over to Severus, who was watching them with dark, bright eyes.  
  
"Don't stop. You two played without me," Severus chastised, then smiled. "I'll watch this time."  
  
Harry was momentarily distracted by the idea of Severus watching him and Draco _play_ —those eyes burning into him as the professor's his own erection tented his robes.  
  
When Draco's hand slid between them, down to the bulge straining against Harry's trousers. Draco's grey eyes darkened, focussed on Harry as he curled those fingers around the outline of Harry's cock, squeezing gently. His tongue darted out, licking his lips.  
  
Harry pressed his palm over Draco's, increasing the pressure on his erection. He felt as though he were so hard every vein and ridge on his length would be visible even through the wool of his trousers. He glanced over at Severus—who was watching the scene while rubbed the erection straining his robes—and began to grind a little against Draco's palm. "Watch me, you perverted old bastard," he wanted to say, but didn't dare. "Watch me like I watched you. Come from watching me like I came from watching you ..."  
  
"Don't let him come in his pants, Draco," Severus warned.  
  
Draco smiled, bringing his other hand down to work at unfastening Harry's trousers. Aside from spreading his thighs slightly to allow Draco's hand easy passage down his shorts, Harry offered no help, forcing himself to be as passive as a mannequin even when Draco's fingers found his aching flesh.  
  
Draco pushed Harry's trousers and shorts down with one hand while the other worked up and down his shaft. He leaned forward so that his lips hovered near Harry's, breath mingling.  
  
"You want Draco, Potter? I happen to know he wants you. Has wanted you for a long time," Severus drawled.  
  
Harry's attention was being pretty well monopolized by the hand expertly wanking him as well as the tempting parted lips not an inch away from his face, but Severus's words managed to penetrate even his current state of bliss. "R-really?" he managed to gasp out, looking at Draco. "Is that just—sex talk, or ..."  
  
Draco's blush seemed to imply Severus was telling the truth, but instead of answering, he pressed his lips to Harry's.  
  
All rational thought fled, and Harry was immediately possessed by the single-minded desire to suck Draco's tongue into his mouth like a sweet. So he did. Draco's mouth opened to him, moaning as Harry sucked. His hand stilled, fingers a tight circle around Harry's shaft.  
  
"He'd let you do almost anything to him. Wouldn't you, Draco?" Severus insisted.  
  
Harry pulled away from Draco's mouth reluctantly, wanting to hear his answer. Draco took a step back, releasing Harry and reaching to unfasten his own robes, fingers shaking as he undid the buttons. Harry batted his hands away and replaced them with his own, unfastening the robe and sliding it from Draco's shoulders.  
  
Draco's eyes closed, breathing ragged as Harry revealed his skin. "Yes," he whispered.  
  
Draco's torso was as pale and lean as Harry remembered it, with a light dusting of blond hair around his nipples, which hardened to points under Harry's hands. He rubbed his fingers over the puckered circles, pushing his exposed cock against Draco's groin.  
  
Draco's hands reached, sliding up Harry's hips, pushing his shirt up as he did. Harry helped him this time, yanking his shirt over his head. He wrapped his hands around Draco's waist and leaned his bare chest against the other boy's, burying his face in the soft place where Draco's neck met his shoulder and breathing in the sweaty scent of him. Harry could feel Draco's quick pulse beneath his lips, hear the soft gasp as he nibbled at the tender skin, then lathed it with his tongue.  
  
Those pale hands slid up Harry's back kneading his muscles as he did. "Harry," Draco whispered.  
  
From his seat, Severus gave a satisfied-sounding laugh. "Exactly."  
  
Harry let his hands travel down Draco's waist, lingering at the small of his back, then delving into his trousers to cup the smooth swell of his arse.  
  
Draco bucked forward against Harry, groaning and pressing his face into Harry's hair. "Want you," he whispered.  
  
Then Draco's mouth was on his again and Harry found it rather difficult to think about anything else. Harry yanked Draco's shirt out of his pants and trying to unbuckle his belt all at once. What idiot had invented clothes, anyway? He wanted hot skin against his, and he wanted it _now_. Draco allowed it, even helping until his clothes gave way, only some of them tearing as Harry tossed them to the floor.  
  
Harry, patience spent, kicked off his own shoes and got his trousers off his ankles, then turned, bore Draco down onto the bed, and set about relieving him of his underwear as well. When he pulled down the strained white fabric Draco's erection bobbed up, dark and demanding. Harry swallowed him down in one ravenous gulp, pulling back to suck the head only when his eyes began to water.  
  
Draco stretched out on Severus’ bed, back arching and limbs trembling. His fingers clutched at the bedding. It was different this time, sucking Draco. Harry didn't feel like a fumbling idiot now, or at least not as much of one. It was like a newly-awakened second nature, trailing his mouth along the fat vein on the underside, flicking Draco's frenulum with his tongue. He tugged lightly at Draco's balls, then harder after Draco's urgent gasp.  
  
The next time Harry's lips closed around the crown, Draco cock jerked, filling Harry's mouth. Harry choked a little, but swallowed what he could. After Draco had spent the last of his orgasm, Harry slid the softening cock from his mouth.  
  
"Well, you are certainly learning these lessons faster than others," Severus chided.  
  
Harry smiled lazily against Draco's thigh. "You're getting hard again already," he teased. His own erection lay thick against his thigh. He wanted to touch himself but didn't dare without Severus's permission.  
  
"You'll find Draco has amazing recuperative powers," Severus added with a smile. "Spread yourself for him, Draco," Severus ordered and Draco did, bending both knees and holding them.  
  
"Please," the blond whispered.  
  
Harry looked over at Severus. He was sitting with his hands on the arms of the chair, ignoring the obvious bulge at the front of his robes.  
  
"What do you want me to do to him?" Harry asked.  
  
"You haven't fucked anyone yet, have you?" Severus asked.  
  
Harry shook his head. He looked down at the juncture of Draco's spread legs. His cock was hard again, drawn up against his stomach. Below the tight pouch of his balls was the tight knot of muscle—so small! Harry couldn't imagine breaching it with a finger, let alone his cock.  
  
"How—how do I –"  
  
Draco held out his hand, pointing beside the bed. "Jar," he said.  
  
Harry plucked the jar from the side table and weighed it in his hand apprehensively. It was full of sweet-smelling oil. "What do I do with it?" he asked, confused.  
  
Severus snorted. "He wants you use it to prepare him, Potter. Dip your fingers into the oil and push them inside his arse."  
  
"Oh!" Harry squeaked, going red. "Right. Well. I'll just, er, get on with it then, shall I?"  
  
Draco shot Severus a annoyed look, but then looked up at Harry. "Yes, it won't take long," he assured Harry. "Just start with one."  
  
Harry dipped his fingers in the oil and slid them down Draco's crack, breath hitching in shock at his own boldness when his fingers found the tight knot of Draco's anus. He circled the rim with his fingertip—it was so small! How could something as wide as a finger fit, never mind a cock?  
  
"Don't worry, you've seen him take it, Potter," Severus chided.  
  
Draco frowned in the other man's direction, but pulled his own knees up, spreading himself even wider. "Go ahead," he encouraged Harry.  
  
Harry bit his lip and pushed his oil-slick finger against the little hole with as much pressure as he dared. To his surprise, the digit sank in without too much effort. The feel of that tight, hot channel opening readily to allow him inside almost pushed him over the edge, and he had to reach between his legs and squeeze his balls firmly to stave off the orgasm that threatened to end this before it had even begun.  
  
Draco shuddered, eyes half-closed and fingers tight on his own thighs as he held himself open. "Yes, like that. More."  
  
Harry withdrew his finger partway, then pushed it back in, rubbing experimentally against the spongy walls of Draco's rectum.  
  
"Oh!" Draco gasped, eyes closing for a minute.  
  
"We may have found a subject Potter learns quickly," Severus taunted.  
  
Harry flipped him the bird with the hand not otherwise engaged.  
  
"You have other uses for those," Severus replied.  
  
"More," Draco encouraged.  
  
"Another one?" Harry asked, probing lightly at Draco's stretched entrance with the tip of a second finger.  
  
"Yes, another," Draco whispered, looking up again.  
  
Harry obliged, sliding the second finger in alongside the first. Draco's mouth opened in a gasp and Harry couldn't resist leaning down to capture the other boy's bottom lip between his teeth as he plunged his fingers deep inside of him.  
  
Draco was panting, mouth open to Harry. He released one of his legs, hooking it around Harry's hip as he brought his hand up to grip Harry's shoulder.  
  
Encouraged, Harry began to move his fingers in and out of Draco's arse, experimenting with the angle to see what reactions he could elicit from Draco. Draco lifted his hips even more, and Harry's fingers found a bump inside of him. The reaction was immediately, with Draco shuddering, hand once again tightening on Harry.  
  
"Looks like Potter has discovered the prostate," Severus observed. "Now if he can only do that with his prick."  
  
Intrigued, Harry rubbed the place again. "This feels good?" he asked.  
  
Draco whimpered.  
  
"Yes, Potter, it does. And unless you want Draco to come again before you get to the act itself, you'd better get on with it," Severus drawled.  
  
Harry rolled his eyes but obeyed, reluctantly withdrawing his fingers from Draco's body. His anus was left glistening with oil and gaping slightly, an indecent gap between his spread legs that Harry wanted to fill and fuck and own more than he'd ever wanted anything. Clumsily he pushed the leaking head of his penis against Draco's hole, a shiver running up his spine at the feel of the rim of it contracting around his tip. "This is okay?" he whispered, searching Draco's face for permission, consent.  
  
Draco took a long shuddering breath, blinking grey eyes at him. "Please, do it," he answered.  
  
That was all Harry needed. In one stroke he had buried himself to the hilt in Draco's hot, tight, clenching, moaning, sweet, slick, incredible body and Merlin's sweaty balls, it was the most fucking amazing sensation that he had ever, ever experienced.  
  
"Bloody hell," he managed to choke out, half-collapsing onto Draco.  
  
Draco wrapped hooked both legs high on Harry's hips, trembling. One of his hands had flung out, fingers gripping the sheets. The sheets of Severus' bed.  
  
"This what you wanted, isn't it, Draco? Finally getting fucked by Potter," Severus growled.  
  
"Harry," Draco whispered, though it was unclear as to whether he was speaking to the boy on top of him or correcting Severus.  
  
Harry had his eyes squeezed shut and was clutching Draco's arms with bruising tightness. "Am I allowed to move?"  
  
"Oh, pleasssse move," Draco whimpered.  
  
"I'm—urhg—not going to hurt you?"  
  
"Fuck him already, Potter!" Severus snapped at him.  
  
Harry needed no further prompting. He pulled out of Draco and slammed back in, gasping in pleasure at the grip around his cock, at the sound his balls made as they slapped against Draco's crack. He crashed his mouth into Draco's in a kiss that was all teeth and chin and insistent tongue as he thrust into the gorgeous slick heat of his rectum.  
  
Draco responded eagerly, hands clutching at Harry and legs pulling on Harry, so that Draco arched up into those thrusts. His tongue met Harry's, twisting with him and he made the most obscene whimpering noises.  
  
"You feel so good," Harry groaned, "so FUCKING good, Draco—god—" He pushed his hand between their bodies and grasped Draco's cock, bouncing hard and red against his belly and leaking a trail of pre-come from the slit.  
  
"Har-ry!" Draco shouted, shuddering and Harry could feel Draco's cock twitching with the touch.  
  
"He won't last long now," Severus said, sounding amused.  
  
Harry leaned down and sucked on Draco's neck while dragging a palm roughly over his cock. His thrusts were less frantic now, but no less brutal, and if the rational part of Harry's brain had not been utterly consumed with screwing Draco into the mattress he might have been concerned for the other boy's welfare.  
  
Draco keened and his entire body spasmed, come spurting between them, hot and slick. The feel of Draco's semen coating his hand tipped Harry over the edge, and he came in sympathy, crying out wordlessly as he spent his pleasure inside Draco's welcoming body.  
  
After the last of his orgasm left him, Harry collapsed onto Draco's chest, sweaty and sated and utterly spent. He wanted to tell Draco how completely fucking incredible it had just been, but his muscles had gone loose and floppy and all that would come out of his mouth was a blissed-out little whimper.  
  
Draco shifted, legs sliding off Harry's hips and down to the bed. Harry could hear the other boy's heart still hammering in his chest. He leaned down and planted a kiss on Draco's sweat-damp hair. Draco looked surprised, eyes widening.  
  
"If the two of you are finished," Severus drawled from where he sat in his chair.  
  
Harry looked over at Severus, ready to snap a few choice words to say about greasy perverts who wouldn't even let a bloke enjoy his first five minutes as a non-virgin in peace, but when he saw the neglected erection bobbing between Severus's thighs he forgot all his insults.  
  
"Er, do you want to take care of that?" Harry suggested tentatively.  
  
"Draco, come here," Severus said, voice as heated as his expression.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Only two chapters left!]


	14. Complicated

Harry moaned as Draco sidled out from under him, a slick white trail of come trickling down his thigh. His come. Harry James Potter's come. Would it ever not be strange to see it staining someone else's body?  
  
Draco's cheeks were still flush and his lips bright. He seemed unashamed of either his nudity or the mess dribbling out of him. He rolled out of bed, crossed the short distance to Severus and climbed into his lap, straddling his thighs.  
  
"No," Severus said when Draco reached a hand toward the man's prick. "Ride me." Draco shifted, rising up over Severus's cock, his hands braced on the back of the chair. Severus drew his fingers up the backs of Draco's thighs. "Yes, open them," he ordered and when the boy did, he pushed three fingers into that slick hole.  
  
Draco's eyes were heavy-lidded, lashes brushing his flushed cheeks. He looked sweaty and wanton and— _well fucked._ Harry licked his lips.  
  
That messy blond head fell back, eyes closed and shuddering as Severus's fingers twisted inside for a minute, making a slick sound that reminded Harry again that his cock had been there only minutes before. Draco whimpered, spreading his legs as far as he could and not fall off of Severus lap.  
  
"Dripping with Potter's spunk. You like that, don't you, Draco?" Severus insisted, twisting his fingers.  
  
Draco looked toward Harry then, eyes dark and lips half-open, panting. "Yes," he gasped, eyes focussed on Harry's.  
  
"So, Potter, how did Draco's arse feel, stretched around your prick? Was it like you fantasized?" Severus pushed further into Draco. He grunted and shuddered.  
  
Harry shuddered as well. Despite the shattering orgasm of not five minutes past, his cock was making a valiant attempt at rising to half-mast.  
  
"Who says I fantasized?" he managed to bite out.  
  
Draco's eyes fluttered, whimpering again and fingers digging into the leather upholstery of the arms of the chair as Severus's withdrew his fingers and slid them down his own cock, coating it in Harry's come.  
  
"Are you claiming you haven't?" Severus challenged, one dark eyebrow arched as those black eyes focussed on Harry.  
  
Harry tried to shrug. "I might," he said hoarsely, "I might have—fantasized."  
  
Severus seemed pleased with the response, turning his attention back to Draco, urging him to lower himself onto Severus large member. Draco was panting as he began to move.  
  
Almost without conscious thought, Harry's hand moved to his thickening cock. It was still too sensitive for him to touch. Instead he brushed his fingertips against his tightening balls, almost gasping at the sensation. He watched as Draco's hips were moving up and down on Severus's cock in a shuddering cadence.  
  
"Good," Severus insisted, leaning back and letting Draco do the work, one of his hands resting on the small of Draco's back, fingers stroking the sweaty skin there. His gaze was pleased as he looked over at Harry. "Come here," he beckoned with his free hand, with a lazy swirl of his fingers.  
  
Harry stood and approached the chair tentatively. His cock bounced with every step, and any feeling of shame he might have entertained about that was banished by the realization that he was watching Severus fuck Draco's arse.  
  
"Look at him, Draco. Look at how much Potter likes seeing you this way," Severus insisted, laying his hand flat on Draco's back. The blond moaned but blinked, looking back and licking his lips when he saw Harry's rising erection.  
  
"Can I–" Harry began, hand hovering over his cock.  
  
"Potter wants to touch himself, wants to come watching you impaled on my cock," Severus said. "What do you think of that, Draco? Should he?"  
  
Draco swallowed hard. "P-please," he answered, bouncing faster in Severus's lap.  
  
Harry's fist closed around his aching erection and he began to stroke himself slowly, peeling back his foreskin to reveal the sensitive red cap of his cockhead. "You're so _fucking_ hot, Draco," he groaned, reaching down with the other hand to grope his balls. "So unbelievably hot..."  
  
Both of Severus’ hands gripped Draco's hips, thrusting up while Draco writhed on his lap. Draco keened and whimpered, glazed eyes on Harry's hand and prick.  
  
Harry rolled his balls in his palm, groaning at his own rough handling. His prick was leaking clear fluid, making the passage of his hand up and down its length slick. Severus bucked his hips, burying his cock deep in Draco's arse, and Harry and Draco whimpered in unison.  
  
"Oh, oh," Draco was gasping, his face open in a rapturous expression.  
  
Harry was wanking in time with the upward rotations of Severus's hips against Draco's pelvis. He tweaked the web of skin between his balls, pressing a finger hard against his perineum. God, he wanted to come, bathing Severus's buried cock with his spunk, spurting all over Draco's gasping face. Harry clenched his cock and groaned.  
  
Severus's eyes closed and his expression was nothing like Harry would ever have pictured before he first walked in on him and Draco. He growled. Really. Shuddering and back arching as he thrust up into Draco. Draco keened, loud and almost painfully, shaking.  
  
It was as if the sound had entered Harry's ears and gone straight to his cock. All it took was a flick of his thumb over the swollen head and his entire body jerked in an orgasm that left him slumped, gasping, at Severus's feet.  
  
Severus gave a dark chuckle. "He is definitely catching on quickly, isn't he, Draco?"  
  
***  
  
Draco collapsed onto Severus' chest, the older man's cock still inside him, their combined jism dripping over his balls. It had been an night of extremes and he felt wrung out. He closed his eyes and couldn't stop the whimper when Severus gently withdrew.  
  
"Wow," said Harry, still kneeling on the floor. He looked like he'd been hit in the head with a Bludger.  
  
Severus rubbed his hands up and down Draco's back, easing the strained muscles and providing comfort. Draco was just realizing how much this might change his life. He blinked up at Potter. Harry. He flushed. He shouldn't be embarrassed, but now he remembered that Severus had revealed his secrets.  
  
"Can I get up, Sir?" Draco asked, legs now protesting the stretch.  
  
"Carefully," Severus answered and then smirked at Potter at his feet. "If you would, Mr Potter?"  
  
Harry stood abruptly, rubbing his hands on his thighs.  
  
Severus helped Draco stand, hands steadying him as he climbed out of the chair. Draco swayed on his feet, taking hold of the high back of the chair to steady himself as he faced Harry.  
  
"Are you all right?" Harry asked, with a seriousness that took Draco aback.  
  
"I will be fine," Draco said with as much dignity as he had left. Draco thought he never seen anything as hot as Potter like this. Well, except for earlier. Draco told himself he wouldn't have initiated this with Potter. He looked down at Severus, waiting for some cue as to what to do next.  
  
"We do seem to have a something of a situation," Severus said, tucking his prick away again.  
  
Harry laughed, a little maniacally. "Is that what you'd call it?"  
  
Harry took a deep breath, running a hand through his disheveled hair. "You," he said, pointing a finger at Snape, "and you," at Malfoy, "owe me an explanation."  
  
Draco didn't know what Harry expected or what he could safely tell him. Luckily, he trusted Severus to take control here. Both of Severus' eyebrows rose and he gestured toward the bed. "Sit down, Potter."  
  
Despite himself, Harry's knees folded and he sat promptly on the edge of the bed, hands folded obediently on his lap.  
  
Draco gaped in surprise and looked down at Severus, who, of course, was smiling. "So, just what is unclear to you?" Severus asked Harry.  
  
"Well–" Harry hesitated. "You're not—Death Eaters, are you?" he asked feebly.  
  
"I am, and Draco may not have a choice in the matter," Severus answered, his tone mild, but Draco could see the tension in his shoulders. His own stomach flipped just thinking about his options, or lack there of.  
  
Harry looked outraged. "What do you mean, you don't have a choice in the matter?" he shouted, jumping to his feet. "Of _course_ you do! What, are you claiming some sort of genetic compulsion towards becoming a serial killer?"  
  
Draco startled, stepping back before he'd realised it. He found himself almost behind Severus's chair. He almost reached for his wand, but he was naked, wand and clothing behind Harry. Severus stood up, scowling. "Sit down, Mister Potter," he snapped.  
  
Harry sat immediately, then scowled, obviously annoyed at himself for complying. "Well, how am I _supposed_ to react?" he said sulkily.  
  
"Well, I suppose it would be impossible for you to actually _think_ about the situation," Severus sneered and then, shaking his head, sat down again with a huff.  
  
"You haven't exactly given me a lot to go on," Harry pointed out.  
  
"First, do you think that if Draco and I truly served the Dark Lord, you would be safe alone with us? That you would even still be alive?" Severus asked.  
  
Harry paused, considering. "You could be planning to lure me out of the castle by devious means," he suggested.  
  
"Potter, if we wanted to capture or kill you, we would have. Certainly, I wouldn't have invited you to fuck my ... to have sex with Draco," Severus snapped. Draco wondered at the emotional intensity Severus showed in front of Potter. He moved around closer, laying a hand on Severus' shoulder.  
  
"Well, why then?" Harry snapped back. "Why did you let me fuck your—your Draco?"  
  
"I'm not some fucking pawn to be used!" Draco snapped, crossing his arms and frowning at both men. He shivered now, suddenly wishing he had dressed before this conversation.  
  
Severus reached out and snagged Draco's elbow, pulling him down into his lap. "I did not mean ... to imply that, Draco," he apologized.  
  
Harry looked bewildered. "What do you mean, a pawn?"  
  
Draco nodded in acknowledgement of the unexpected apology and then sighed as Severus held his gaze for a moment. "If you think it best," he said, giving his permission for whatever Severus seemed to be planning. Severus kissed Draco's forehead and turned his attention back to Harry. "Both mine and Draco's feelings toward you ... are genuine. But there is more involved here than three people who have shared intimacy. I assume you wish to know if you can trust us not to betray you."  
  
Harry shifted nervously, pulling up a leg to shield his genitals. "It would certainly be nice to have some assurance I'm not going to, I don't know, be AK'd on the brink of orgasm or something," Harry admitted.  
  
Draco opened his mouth to retort, not even sure what he would say, but Severus shook his head, one hand tightening around his waist, so he closed his lips tight.  
  
"Neither of us wish for any harm to come to you. In fact, I have been doing my best to safeguard both of you for some time," Severus explained.  
  
Harry opened his mouth, then closed it again. He narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "Safeguard us from what, exactly?"  
  
"With you," Severus began, shaking his head in exasperation, "from yourselves as much as from the Dark Lord and his followers."  
  
Draco almost laughed. It was true. They'd both behaved like idiots, fighting each other when there were much bigger problems.  
  
Harry certainly looked chagrined as well. "So, are you some kind of double agent or something?"  
  
Severus' long fingers gently stroked Draco's arm, idly, he thought, the touch making him feel wanted.  
  
"I took the Dark Mark when I was young and foolish. I made a grave mistake, one that someone I loved paid for," Severus explained. He looked away, and so close, Draco could see the tremble in his jaw. "I have been attempting to ... repay that debt ever since."  
  
Harry was scowling down at his hands. He seemed to be deep in thought. Finally, haltingly, he said, "I—well. I suppose I don't know whether or not you're telling the truth, but–" He looked up suddenly, face set with conviction. "But you _are_ telling the truth. I just—Hermione would think I was mad, but I just...know you are." He shrugged, coloring. "Anyway," he continued briskly, "it makes more sense than just thinking you're an evil bastard."  
  
Draco wasn't sure if Severus would be pleased with the conclusion or angry with the insult. He was relieved when Severus quirked his lips and arched an eyebrow at Harry. "So now that you know, the question remains as to how you will use this knowledge."  
  
Harry scowled again, and ran a distracted hand through his hair. "Well, it's not as though I can tell Ron and Hermione," he muttered, almost to himself. "Okay, let me just—let me get this straight. You—" he pointed to Draco–"are being forced to serve Voldemort against your will. And you–" He pointed at Severus. "Are trying to protect him?"  
  
Draco looked away unhappily, still reluctant to admit his weakness in front of Harry. "I would not willingly serve that madman," he said softly.  
  
Harry hesitated, body going tense. Then he nodded curtly and said, as if stating a fact so obvious it hardly needed to be said, "And I'll protect you, too."  
  
Severus' sigh sounded irritated and tired. "That, at least, is established. The problem is that Draco has orders he cannot follow and yet, not doing so, will result in his death."  
  
"And my parents," Draco added.  
  
"Orders?" Harry said.  
  
Draco's hands tightened on the chair again and Severus laid one atop of his. "Draco has been ordered to commit a murder. He cannot openly refuse and has been ... stalling for time."  
  
Harry's eyes went wide. "Bloody hell!" He jumped to his feet. "That's—that's bloody _serious,_ that is! You need to tell Dumbledore!"  
  
Draco huffed, rolling his eyes. Severus squeezed his hand, though Draco didn't know if that was to soothe him or to warn him to hold his tongue. "Yes, that was my first impulse as well. The Headmaster knows of the dilemma and it was his decision that Draco continue this dangerous charade," Severus explained.  
  
Harry's expression went from shock to disbelief. "That can't be true," he said uncertainly. "You—you must have misunderstood."  
  
Severus' squeeze was definitely a warning this time and Draco nearly bit his lip to keep his mouth closed. "No, Albus is unwilling to change his plans or let his enemy know that not all who follow the Dark Lord are loyal," Severus explained. "What is Draco to him, but a Slytherin and the son of a Death Eater?"  
  
Harry's face went white, then blotchy red. "That isn't true!" he shouted, all but stomping his foot. "Dumbledore doesn't think like that! You're lying!"  
  
"You think Dumbledore cares about anything but his side?" Draco sneered, unable to keep his mouth closed. He slid from Severus' lap, shaking off the man's hand. "He always favors Gryffindors, giving you house points when you break the rules and punishing Slytherins."  
  
"This isn't about something as petty as house points," Severus snapped.  
  
Harry was shaking his head, face blank with fury. "You're lying. You're trying to trick me."  
  
Draco was shaking, angry and hurt that Harry would think he would have sex with him only to trick him. He wanted to run from the room. Severus must have sensed how close Draco was to losing it because he reached out and took hold of the his hand.  
  
"Kneel," he ordered, and Draco, so used to obeying, sunk to his knees on the rug beside the chair.  
"And what would it take for you to believe my words, Harry," Severus asked.  
  
Harry narrowed his eyes. "I can't," he said, voice hard. He grabbed his robes and yanked them on. In his haste, he managed to get both arms through the same hole twice.  
  
"And just what do you intend to do?" Severus asked, one hand on Draco's shoulder, as if he was afraid Draco would do something as stupid as Potter. Draco grudgingly thought Severus was probably right about that.  
  
"I'm going to Dumbledore," Harry snapped. He managed to get his arms through the correct sleeves. Unfortunately, the robe was backwards.  
  
"And when you get there?"  
  
Harry hesitated momentarily. "I'll—I'll ask him about Draco."  
  
"Oh, and will you be explaining how you came about your information and ... the circumstances of such ... revelations?" Severus asked, his tone making the last words sound provocative enough that Draco found his body shivering in memory of what he and Harry had just been doing.  
  
Harry stopped struggling to pull his robes on the right way. "Um," he said. "Well. I'll. Er..."  
  
The blush that coloured his face almost had Draco forgetting he was angry with Harry.  
  
Severus' mouth was pursed in what Draco thought might be an attempt not to smile.  
  
Harry scowled at their amusement. "I'll tell him I—was given information by a, er, source who chooses to remain anonymous!"  
  
"A source?" Severus' sarcasm and raised eyebrow clearly showed how well he thought that would work. "And if he believes you and you find out that I am telling the truth, what then?"  
  
Harry's mouth moved silently, trying to figure out a rejoinder. After several confounded moments, he slowly sat back down on the bed.  
  
"I don't know," he said sulkily.  
  
Draco let out a breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding. "Harry," Severus said, voice gentler than Draco ever remembered hearing it before. "I suggest an alternative."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Oh, and where does it end? One more chapter!]


	15. Shades of Grey

"The boy will fail, Albus," Severus insisted, more agitated than Harry ever remembered seeing him.  
  
Dumbledore was seated at his desk, watching with a benevolent expression as Severus paced in front of him. "Your priorities are confused, Severus," Dumbledore said mildly, steepling his fingers. "The Malfoy child is quite beside the point."  
  
Severus' scowl was worse than anything he'd ever turned on Harry. "I took an Unbreakable Oath. Either he kills you or I have to finish the assignment for him!"  
  
Harry shivered, and it had nothing to do with the temperature of the Pensieve liquid. There was a part of his brain that was stridently insisting that this must be a lie, a trick—but memories couldn't be faked, could they?  
  
Dumbledore shook his head, smiling sadly. "Severus, Severus," he chided. "I have everything perfectly under control. You needn't worry about the whys and wherefores of your mission. It is not for you to question my orders."  
  
"I'm not questioning, I'm telling you," Severus retorted. "Draco needs our protection. The Dark Lord has threatened to kill both his parents unless he kills you, but if we offered the Malfoys safety, they could aid our side."  
  
Dumbledore's smile didn't so much fade as harden into a thin line of annoyance. "We hardly owe our help to such people as Lucius Malfoy and his shrew of a wife. Have you forgotten, Severus, that they went willingly to Voldemort?"  
  
Severus froze in place, face twisting and his breathing ragged. "Have you forgotten, I did as well?" he hissed.  
  
"Ah, but you redeemed yourself," Dumbledore said kindly. "You crossed enemy lines, as it were. Malfoy has made no such overtures."  
  
"He has," Severus said softly. "I know for a fact that he doesn't want to follow the Dark Lord."  
  
Dumbledore shrugged. His expression held an emotion Harry had never seen on the man's lined face before: indifference. "The Malfoy boy had many opportunities to renounce the folly of his parents," he said. "He has enjoyed the benefits of being their heir too much to do so."  
  
Severus shook his head. "I also swore to protect Draco," he said. "I took an Unbreakable Vow."  
  
Dumbledore's smile was no longer really a smile. It had settled into a grim rictus that seemed to distort his features. "You will do nothing to interfere with my plans," he said with awful, freezing calm. "You will obey me. You will put no other allegiance before mine. You will regard the Malfoy boy as a pawn to be carefully positioned for optimal efficacy. Nothing more."

Harry stumbled back from the Penseive, almost tripping over his own feet in his haste to get away from the memory. He felt as though his head had been stuffed with cotton wool. He couldn't think. Couldn't do anything but stare from Snape to Draco to the Penseive to Snape. They would begin to laugh now, surely? It was a joke. A trick. Some twisted puppet show designed to turn him into a dumb idiot. But Harry knew with an awful, dull certainty, that it was real. And he knew that nothing would ever be the same again.  
  
The three of them had dressed and come to Snape's office to use his Pensieve. Snape was sitting in his chair, face as dour as ever while he watched for Harry's reaction.  
  
Draco had been perched on the edge of the desk but he stood when Harry stumbled, hands hovering nervously in the air as if stuck in the act of trying to steady Harry, but stopping short of actually touching him.  
  
"So," Harry said, voice cracking only a little. "So that's the way he thinks of us. As—pawns."  
  
Draco must have come to a decision, because the fingers of his right hand fluttered before coming to rest on Harry's arm. The other still wavered and Draco's eyes were open in what seemed like concern.  
  
Severus scowled. "It's a battle that began long before any of us were born. He truly believes his goals justify the means, whatever they are or whoever he has to sacrifice."  
  
Harry barely heard him. Draco's fingers were warm on his arm. Warm, and a little sticky. In spite of everything, Harry found the corners of his mouth turn up. Carefully, not wanting to startle Draco away, he touched his hand, stroking the pad of his thumb across Draco's knuckles and down to his wrist. He'd never imagined that such a small part of a person could be so fascinating. Maybe, he thought, it just had to be the right person.  
  
"Whose side am I on then?" he wondered aloud. "Are there even sides anymore?"  
  
"I would agree that the Dark Lord must be stopped. He is mad, and that makes him even more dangerous than before," Severus replied.  
  
Draco gave a small nod, though in answer to Harry's touch or Severus' words, Harry didn't know. His other hand came to rest on Harry's waist, squeezing gently as he trembled under Harry's soft touches.  
  
"But if Dumbledore is treating people like chess pieces, he's just as bad," Harry said. "Well, not _just_ as bad—he's never Crucio'd a Muggle or lived on the back of some bloke's skull—but not, you know— _good_."  
  
Severus nodded. "And Fudge and the Ministry are another ... bad. I think you begin to see the picture."  
  
Harry curled his hand around Draco's. He'd never been this close to him before without either attempting to hex him or wanting to fuck him. It was...nice, the closeness. The thought came to Harry that he hadn't experienced physical affection like this in a long time. Possibly ever.  
  
"The big picture," Harry repeated. "Yeah, it seems to be painted in varying shades of gray." He huffed in frustration. "But what can we do if the good guys aren't ... _good_?"  
  
"Shades of grey, certainly. I doubt the sides have ever been as clear as you would like," Severus answered.  
  
Draco's long fingers wrapped in Harry's, his other arm tightening so that he drew Harry's body alongside his own, hip-to-hip. "And ... not all purebloods want what that madman wants," he added quietly.  
  
"So we need a middle path," Harry said slowly. "You two and me. How do we stop Voldemort?"  
  
"There are those who would be willing to follow a strong leader who provided another option," Severus answered. "It would be dangerous."  
  
"I would," Draco said softly, his eyes never leaving Harry's face.  
  
Harry smiled at Draco and squeezed his hand. A thought struck him. He turned to Severus. "But what about you? Where do you fit in all this?"  
  
Severus looked away and Harry realised the man did that to hide his emotions. "I chose wrong the first time."  
  
"But you can help us now!" Harry insisted. "You know more about both sides than anyone else."  
  
"He does," Draco agreed. "And he knows Legilimancy."  
  
"I have been working both sides for fifteen years. Now you want me to work for three?" Severus asked, arching an eyebrow.  
  
"You were never completely loyal to either side," Harry pointed out. "But–" he hesitated, then plunged in. "But you're loyal to me, aren't you? To Draco and me."  
  
The older man blinked, black eyes turning away. Harry finally understood what he was seeing. The emotions were there, just very well controlled. "Yes, I am. Always," Severus said, raising his eyes again and looking into Harry's.  
  
"Then it's settled," Harry said, hugging Draco to his side. "Us three against the Voldemort." He reached out his hand to Severus, who rose to his feet, coming around the desk and taking it. Harry drew him in, and the three of them were now pressed close, holding each other.  
  
"Yes, the three of us together, against anyone who would hurt us," Draco whispered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [This ends this story. We hope you have enjoyed reading as much as we did writing it. While we have no plans for a sequel at this time, I do wonder how different the war would be with these three teamed up.]


End file.
